


Trust

by ygmsfow



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Ancient Rome, Angry Levi Ackerman, Betrayal, Big brother Zeke, Child Eren Yeager, F/M, Gladiator Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Guilt, Kenny Ackerman Being an Asshole, Mentioned Kuchel Ackerman, Murder, Plot, Politics, Poor Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Reader-Insert, Scheming, Scheming Erwin, Slow Build, Zeke is shady, badass Pieck, everybody is scheming, tutor jean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29479023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ygmsfow/pseuds/ygmsfow
Summary: With the death of your father, your family begins to sink. The family name is disgraced with the disappearance of your sister, so finding work proves to be difficult. The plan is simple: travel to Rome and try to find work; learn to provide for yourself and your mother back home. However, things are not simple when work entails more than just caring for rich politicians. Somewhere along the line, you find yourself a target.
Relationships: Erwin Smith & Reader, Erwin Smith/Reader, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/You, Levi Ackerman & Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 29





	1. A Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl's journey of leaving home.

_"I don’t have long left," A hoarse cough pierced the stillness of the night. "seems the fates plan to cut my thread soon."_  
  
 _Clutching the hand of your frail father, a tear rolled down your cheek. The persistent, dull pain of a headache was present from the sheer amount of crying you had done the past few days, igniting worry in the man who laid in the comfort of his bed. If only he could take the pain away; restore you to the lively and curious person you once were. "It's not going to be easy, but you have to be there for your mother. If only your foolish sister hadn't run off when we need her at a time like this..."_  
  
 _A pang hit your heart at the mention of your older sister. You still vividly remember the uproar your parents had been in when they received a letter of notice explaining a surprise elopement to a man without a penny to his name. Tireless nights became normal after that as your father grew even sicker with worry. She chose to leave behind the family in hopes of pursuing a false sense of love and passion. Did those things matter when your father was at home dying?_  
  
 _You were brought back from your thoughts when a hand found its way to your cheek. Caressing it familiarly, a smile made its way to your father's face. "I love you."_  
  
You could only remember two times in your life when those three words were uttered. The first you could remember was when you had gotten lost at the market. You'd been there countless times before with your mother but as you, a young child of five, were by your lonesome the bustling scene was suddenly foreign. The looming presence of men, persistent shopkeepers, and carriages led you to burst into tears. It wasn’t until a familiar figure revealed himself, clad in his usual toga and sporting a look of relief in his brown eyes, with avidity. "I told you to stay close by me!" Your name left his mouth in a scolding tone, only adding more fuel to your tears. "Don’t run off again and scare me like that again, you hear me?" A shy nod was the response. He was scared for you, scared that he lost you. Crouching down to face you, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and uttered those meaningful three words.   
  
The second and final time you heard them was at your father's death bed a month ago. The bed where he once lay was gone, much like the rest of the furniture that once resided in the fairly sized room. The air felt suffocating even with the large set of open windows to your right. What had once been a sanctuary for your small family was now a grim reminder of what once was. Every time you set foot in there it felt like a barrier that you had set up carefully came tumbling down. Over and over, the last moments of your father would escape the confines of your unconscious and seek refuge in your consciousness upon entering. He was everywhere in the room, but nowhere at the same time.   
  
Footsteps became louder and louder until they abruptly stopped behind you. Turning ever so slight, you saw the figure of your mother. The solemn expression you rarely saw before the devastating event was now permanently fixed on her tired face. It hurt to see her like this. "Sorry," You began, heading towards the doorway where she stood. "Just wanted to say goodbye one more time."   
  
She laid a comforting hand upon your exposed shoulder with a squeeze before heading back to where she was initially waiting for you. She never said much now-let alone look at you for a long time. You were the female equivalent of your father, and it pained her to see him in someone else when he was no longer of the world. Soon she would no longer have to trouble herself with your presence once you would settle in Rome. The plan was already clear: find work and try to provide as best as a woman could in this patriarchal hell.   
  
A small wooden wagon was parked outside of your quaint home. Attached to it was two tired-looking horses that rustled the tight reins across their face as an older looking man finished feeding them what looked to be grain. He had a kind look about him that was expressed in the warmth shown to the mares. A boy, lazily sitting inside the wagon, absentmindedly hummed a tune until he saw you. "Here she is Papa!"   
  
"Hello," You shyly greeted. "Thank you for providing me passage, sir." Meeting new people was never your strong suit. It certainly was asking a lot to travel to a new city with two people you hardly knew. The man passed in front of you, now climbing onto the back of the wagon. He gestured you to follow him with a hand held out, "Don’t need to thank me, darling, just doing ya a favor." Taking his rough hand–surely those of a farmer-you soon situated yourself along the floor of the coach with a loud creak. By the gods, you would be lucky if you'd even make it out of town with those horses and creaky transport. The boy, as if hearing your apprehensive thoughts, displayed a reassuring smile. "Don’t worry miss! Old woody has never let us down!"   
  
Your mother called out to you and began to wave goodbye. Your heart hurt.   
  
The coach began to move forward, heading for the road that would eventually take you away from all that you've known. Her figure grew smaller and smaller until she was a speck in the distance. Among your optimism for the plan to work, you had to wonder: is it worth it if you never saw her again? If only it was as easy to find employment in the place you called home but your sister's shameful acts had tarnished the family's name gravely. No one wanted to take on a woman with a fallen sister.   
  
The sun was high in the sky by the time your small party of three (five if you count the horses) reached the Via Appia. It was surprisingly less grand than you expected it to be, considering it was labeled as a magnificent feat by the empire. Well, if it did have one thing to offer, the scenery was gorgeous.   
  
Trees of all sizes lined the stone path, home to birds and their small families. The cooling breeze traveled through the numerous branches to you. It became important to cherish the things nature had given to the world when so much was withdrawn from you. Feeling the rays of the summer sun, hearing the leaves dancing in the wind, and smelling the humid air just seemed freeing.   
  
Your appreciation was cut short by the boy, whose name you learned was Emilian. He hounded you with questions until his father turned around in his seat and smacked him upside the head. "Shut your trap, fool," He said. "you're gonna drive the lady to jump off the wagon and run back home!" You smiled. Emilian was quiet for the rest of the hour before he started up again later. In the meantime, a book gave you company.   
  
The journey wasn’t as long as expected; the three of you only had to stop for one night in a quiet town before resuming at dawn. It was troublesome to wake up so early when you hardly achieved rest on a hard bed at the inn. Even now your back hurt every time the coach jostled on a more bumpy part of the road. Never mind that, the rising sun and early morning dew was beautiful.   
  
Left alone to your own devices for a majority of the ride that day, thoughts of what your future may have in store flooded your mind. Would it be like the stories? What if I can't find work? Is the food good? What if the smell of the city is as bad as they say? You let out a sigh. There was no point worrying about the future and what-ifs. It was important to stay optimistic despite the odds.   
  
Turns out the answer to your last question was true. You were regretting not worrying more about it now. Nothing could've prepared you for the putrid smell of city life; the authors who described the smell in the books you read had used every colorful word in their thesaurus to justify the stench. They were right about the overwhelming miasma of burning buildings and raw meat. However, they failed to explain it in its entirety. It smelled like shit and rotting bodies.   
  
The horses trudged into the center of Rome, tired from the day's long trek. Buildings of different sizes towered over you, illuminated orange by the setting sun. There were people all around you, and countless numbers of carriages in front of your party. Emilian and his father didn’t seem fazed at all, focused on maneuvering in traffic and occasionally yelling at an unsuspecting civilian who was in the way.   
  
Despite its initial faults, it was gorgeous. Never could you have imagined the sheer scale of a city with bustling societies and attractive architecture. You passed in front of the Pantheon, mouth open in wonder at the sight of its portico and rotunda. Behind the massive columns was a large bronze door that shined brightly when sunlight hit just right, blinding you temporarily in all its glory. There was a hankering deep inside of you to run up to those massive doors and take a peek inside. What treasures were hidden in the heart of it?   
  
You eagerly snatched an all too familiar green book from your small collection of belongings, hurriedly skimming the pages until a map of Rome was displayed. For the first time in a while, excitement swelled within you. If the coach continued down this road sooner or later you would see it-something of a scale often visiting you in your dreams of travel.   
  
You vividly remembered when you were the age of six. During this year of your life, it was safe to say becoming the first female gladiator was your life goal. The two of you would play out in the open fields next to home, pretending to be in a duel. She would always let you win, knife (actually a long stick) pressed to her chest. In your blaze of glory and loud cheering, you would close your eyes and imagine what the crowds would sound like. What it would feel like to be there-   
  
The Colosseum.   
  
It was a vast sea of travertine stone, towering above you as if you were a mere insect. There were too many arches to count from sight alone, all decorated in red. You craned your neck. Red flags were displayed along the crown of the edifice, signaling that a tournament was to take place soon on the interior. People all around paid no attention to its prestige, heading to wherever they were needed. A laugh escaped your lips. "Imagine that," Emilian turned, hearing your voice. "the ability to become used to such a wonderful sight!"   
  
He beamed at your lightened expression, toying with two pieces of wheat in his hands. "Have ya ever seen a gladiator fight, miss?"   
  
A shake of the head from left to right. "No, but I wonder what it would be like to see one."   
  
"I've seen one miss! It was between a short sir with black hair and a burly sir-though he looked more like a lion." He pulled at his hair until it was in all directions, emphasizing the wild nature the man must've looked like. "Pa and I for sure thought sir lion was going to win, but the shorty ended him before we knew it! Felt like he was just putting on a show the whole time when he could've won in a few minutes." Suddenly Emilian wore a serious expression and gripped the pieces of wheat in his hands like swords. One was gripped backward, with the 'blade' facing the space behind him. "He grips his swords like this-an absolute lunatic. They call him the Dire Dimachaerus."   
  
A chuckle rumbled in your chest. "What's the serious expression for?"   
  
"It's what he looks like!" His cheeks were colored red in embarrassment. "Aren't you scared of me?"   
  
"Whatever for? Did this Dire Dimachaerus scare you?"   
  
A loud huff was heard from Emilian. His father turned around in his seat, a playful expression present on his face. "The boy was terrified, wouldn’t sleep in his bed for a few days after."   
  
"Pa!"   
  
Maybe things wouldn't be as bad as you thought. Surely, it was going to prove to be a challenge with settling in a new city-especially one as massive as this one. However as the loud rumbling of laughter was heard around you and the colosseum, an establishment of dreams, was in front of your eyes, you couldn't help but feel hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of my first fic! I want to improve in my writing so any constructive criticism would be seriously appreciated :)
> 
> Also, one thing I want to explain is that a Dimachaerus is a gladiator who fights with two swords, so that's why he's called that! They were believed to be "insidious" by the Romans.


	2. The Thief and a Mischievous Senator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proposal is accepted that will change everything.

Dinner would've been a quiet affair if not for your excited ramblings about Rome. Emilian met your energy at the small dinner table of a place rented for the night. He was animated as he told stories of the city you were all too eager to hear. The bowls of food the two of you once paid attention to were now long forgotten, cold food resting inside. Emilian's father was tired. As if his son wasn’t enough, he seemed to become even more insufferable with your newfound elation. Despite his tired state, the man was glad to see you like this. He knew of you from your mother, Emilian's teacher, and hearing stories of your curious nature always seemed interesting, to say the least.   
  
You retired to your designated room late that night. It was going to prove itself difficult to say goodbye to Emilian tomorrow when the two of you seemed to grow so fond of each other. He made you laugh, and for that, you would forever be grateful.   
  
Freeing your body from the confines of your plain toga, goosebumps erupted over the plains of skin. It was cold here at night, a stark contrast from the hot day. Climbing into the somewhat soft bed and wrapping yourself with the extensive amount of blankets, you allowed yourself to plan your movements for the next day. Tomorrow is when business would start.   
  
While conversing with a woman outside earlier, you learned that the grand market was a place where workers were often recruited for households of the rich. There was never a shortage of employers, as they were too lazy to do simple things around the house. You felt mischievous at that moment, wondering if you had enough appeal and determination to snatch the affections of a man with a coin. A sigh escaped your lips at that moment. The long road of life would be too easy if that were the case.   
  
Sleep was a short affair, and you soon found yourself dressed in the best clothes you had packed as your free hand was waving goodbye. Emilian waved unenthusiastically from the departing carriage. He didn’t want to say goodbye, his face downcast. This wouldn’t be the last time you'd see him; you'd make an effort to see him again one day.   
  
Sandal-clad feet carried you into the busy streets shortly after, trying not to lose your sense of direction among the horde of people. They all walked with a sense of purpose- never stopping for a distraction. While trying your best to peer above the tall heads in front of you, your eyes caught the sight of the market.   
  
After a barricade of ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s (to which a particularly rude man pushed you out of the crowd), you stumbled onto the clearing the collection of shops resided on. It was a madhouse to put it simply.   
  
There were people of all walks of life mingling in the area. Men and women in ragged chitons walked alongside those in extravagant togas and blinding jewels. Several litters, platforms that the rich would use to travel on, rested to your left at the entrance of the market with servants waiting for their masters.   
  
You awkwardly stood there, fretting upon where you would fit in among the crowd. The confidence that welled up within you in the night and early morning quickly left your being. You were nobody, a country bumpkin you would say, how were you supposed to make it here?   
  
It all happened in a flash. The bag which safely housed minimal coin and a small set of clothes was swiftly confiscated from the security of your hold and into the hands of a small figure, running quickly into the sea of people before you. Your heart sunk. Like the idiot you were, you let yourself escape into your thoughts in a place where you needed to be present and aware. Before you knew it you were running after the figure, bumping into the same individuals you were observing just a moment before.   
  
The person, a little boy, was extremely fast compared to you even with your much longer legs. He expertly avoided the people in his path and you just barely managed to keep up and not knock an unsuspecting civilian to the ground yet.   
  
_Yet._   
  
You were focused on the hand that held your bag, dangling just a few inches from your grasp. Just a little more and it would be back in your possession again; you would be able to forget this whole embarrassment of a situation happening right now. Extremely out of breath, you felt your fingertips brush against the cool leather of the bag before the boy swiftly turned left. Now able to see the sight in front of you, a particularly tall man was in your path of destruction. You weren’t going to be able to stop in time; you were surely going to-   
  
Suddenly, your body was brought down to the ground by a strong figure. A painful ache radiated from the back of your cranium as it deafeningly impacted the floor. A groan unconsciously left you in agony. Amidst the stimuli, a cool object was pressed against your throat. Your eyes were bolted shut.  
  
“Gods,” loud footsteps came over to you. “Don’t pounce on innocent people like that, Pieck. You’re not an animal.”   
  
The heavyweight that was on your chest lifted. “Hello? Still alive in there?” The deep voice spoke again.   
  
It hurt to open your eyes, but when they did, they were met with irises of deep blue. Intimidating.   
  
Realizing you were on the ground, you hastily moved to sit up and stop groveling like a pig in mud. Your head instantly spun. The owner of those eyes immediately gripped the sides of your arms, gently bringing you to your feet. “You almost killed her just from the impact alone…” a smile made its way to his lips. “I expected nothing less from that menace of a trainer.” A feminine hum was the response of someone to your right.   
  
“Sir, I'm extremely sorry, but I’m afraid I must be going… my bag!” You hastily tried to escape his grasp, but it only tightened. Taking the time to study him now that your escape seemed near impossible, his status was made clear. He had a pale face clear of responsibilities and blonde hair free of aging. If the gold armband and numerous rings resting on his fingers that dug into your arms weren’t enough, the broad stripe of purple running along the fore of his toga was. On his shoulder laid the polished emblem that confirmed your suspicion: a bronze eagle. The symbol of the Senate. You felt like you might be sick.   
  
"No need to worry, miss. If anything, I apologize for my guard assaulting you." He didn’t sound sorry at all. Large hands gestured to the right, referring to a woman of small stature and jet black hair. "Afraid she's got quite the habit of attacking the oblivious." Did he seriously just call you that?   
  
If he wasn’t a person of high importance and could sentence you to a life of damnation, a scowl would've surely settled on your face. Even though he was right in his observations of you.   
  
There was a curious glint in his eyes. It unsettled you.   
  
"Walk with me." It wasn’t a suggestion.   
  
He and his guard began to walk towards the entrance of the market, the opposite direction of where your precious belongings were. They would be long gone by now. You wanted to cry as you turned around and followed the unnerving man.   
  
"Are you from Rome?"   
  
"I'm afraid not, sir."   
  
"Come now, don’t be too hasty to share." Sarcasm dripped from his lips.   
  
"I was born in a town of no importance a good ways from here."   
  
"Which direction?"   
  
He won't take the hint, won't he? "Afraid I don’t have a compass with me as my bag was stolen."   
  
"I see."   
  
Silence loomed over the two of you. Your eyes looked up at him until he caught your gaze.   
  
"What is your name?"   
  
You looked away from his intense stare, reluctantly answering him. You would reach the entrance of the market soon.   
  
"What made you come to Rome?" He clasped his hands behind his back.   
  
"I came here intending to find work, sir."   
  
"Any particular work you were looking for?" You could hear the smirk in his voice.   
  
Lips formed into a tight line, "All but the one you're thinking of."   
  
A deep chuckle sounded in the air. You were now back where you started, and the man turned right to head for the litters. Stopping in front of the most ornate one, which was painted an obnoxious red, he then turned to you. "Why don’t you join me? I have a job proposal for you."   
  
Uneasiness set in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't put your finger on it, but you felt like you were walking on eggshells around him. Afraid that if you took one wrong step, the floor would crack and crumble all around.

"I don’t even know your name yet," you started, standing your ground. "and I'm afraid it's time I should be heading back."   
  
He dug in the fold of his toga, taking out a small coin purse. "Where do you live? It would be very ungentlemanly of me not to provide transportation." Digging into the fine material of the pouch, a few silver coins were brought to his hand.   
  
"You still haven't told me."   
  
"My name is Zeke Yeager. Do you live in the Subura?"   
  
Embarrassment flooded your cheeks. "I don’t have a residence."   
  
"Then It would do you best to listen to what I have to say." He handed the coins in his hand to four servants standing nearby; they accepted payment with gratitude. One by one they stood in position, ready to lift the litter. Zeke beckoned you forward. Reluctantly, you followed.   
  
Inside the wooden structure was an upholstered floor, wrapped in a tan-colored fabric. On both ends rested decorated pillows. You sat cross-legged on the left side, momentarily feeling guilty about soiling the inside with your dirtied clothes and plebian status. Zeke soon joined afterward and drew the sheer, red curtains closed on both sides for some privacy. The litter was soon brought into the air and began to move. You momentarily had to hold onto the walls to stop yourself from toppling over, causing Zeke to snicker. How stupid. Having people carry you when you had your own two legs.

"Have you any younger siblings?" He crossed his arms, entering a relaxed state.   
  
"No, only an older sister. The closest I had to one was a family friend's son that I babysat for a couple of years." A small smile made its way to your face. You'd always remember Leo, a tan-skinned child of good breeding. He was about eight now; however, you'd always remember him as a chubby toddler who got himself in lots of trouble.   
  
"I've got a younger brother who needs to learn caution. He has a habit of running into things headfirst."   
  
"What's his name, Sir Yeager?"   
  
His face contorted in disgust. "Don’t call me that. Makes me sound like my father." The litter jostled for a moment before you heard an incomprehensible scolding from a woman outside. "His name is Eren."   
  
"So I would act as his caretaker? How much will I be paid?"   
  
"Yes, among other things. I don’t usually pay so much, but for you, it would be one gold denarius a month."   
  
You had a quizzical look about you. Noticing it, Zeke continued.   
  
"There may be a few odd jobs in between. As a senator, I need certain kinds of information I won't be able to discover myself."   
  
"I don’t know if I have this information you need, sir."   
  
"That’s not what I'm asking. Under my tutelage, I'll need you to be a listening ear around others of the senate."

You grew nervous. This could be a very dangerous game. If you were ever caught spying on members of the government, they would take your life.   
  
"You shouldn’t worry, my methods are very discreet. Besides, I have a good position in the board-enough for you to keep your head if you do get caught." He yawned. "The pay for each job would be five gold denarii. A fair amount for you to risk your life, don’t you think?" 

Your mouth threatened to drop. One reason was because of the sheer amount of money he was offering. If you managed to follow through, you'd have enough to visit home once or twice a year. You wouldn’t have to worry about your mother not having enough to eat. The other reason was his attitude. This wasn’t a simple matter to laugh at. There was a high chance you wouldn’t survive the following year, your family name disgraced once more with a new title: traitor. However, the odds were still greater than they'd been in a while.   
  
After a fair bit of silence, you answered. "Yes, it is a fair amount. I'll accept your offer, sir."   
  
Zeke hummed in approval.   
  
The litter stopped before slowly lowering to the ground. Outside the mesh curtains, you saw the female guard. "We're here."   
  
The two of you climbed out promptly. "Is this where you live?" You questioned in astonishment at the sight before you.   
  
"Yes, we've just finished redecorating in time for your arrival!" A large smile graced his features. If he didn’t make you feel so uneasy, you suppose he would be a handsome man. He addressed a tall, pale man with dark hair. "Sannes, take the lady to the tablinum. I'll be there shortly."

You could tell the domus was massive just from its exterior. Following the man inside the tall bronze doors, you looked back at Zeke once more. He stood confidently, chatting with the guard. The doors closed behind you.   
  
On the exterior of the domus, Zeke watched your retreating form closely. He looked at his prized possession of a guard, Pieck, mischievously. "She seems fit for the role. Unsuspecting."   
  
Her grey eyes looked into his. "Especially, considering she looks to be his type."   
  
"And what exactly is that foul being's type?"   
  
She began to walk towards the door, holding it open for Zeke to enter. "Those that have a brain, sir."   
  
"Precisely, Pieck. You're absolutely right. Though I will say, not bright enough to turn down my proposal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some explanations for a few things that might not have been clear:
> 
> Chiton: This is a shorter garment worn that stopped just above the knees for men.
> 
> Toga with purple stripe: The purple stripe was used on a toga to differentiate someone belonging to the Senate. This is a sign of status.
> 
> Domus: This is a traditional house that was popular. Mainly, the wealthy were the only ones who could afford to own one.
> 
> Tablinum: This is the office typically used by the head of the house in the domus.


	3. A Knowledgeable Praetor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story is shared that sets events into motion.

To say the sight before you was astonishing would be an understatement. It was a work of art. When you followed Sannes through the bronze doors you expected grandeur, but not on this level. It was the type that wasn’t overly showy, but the statement of unimaginable wealth was still prominent.   
  
Your eyes initially dropped to the floor. Polished, black mosaic tiles stretched across the large atrium. The deep-sea was enriched with innumerable pieces of red stone and white marble that glistened when the sunlight came down from the compluvium, a large opening in the ceiling, that led to a white tank depressed in the floor. On both sides, two wooden benches with white upholstery handsomely sat. The impluvium was barren. It saddened you to not see the sight of rain cascading down into it. How gorgeous it must be.   
  
The walls were painted in beautiful colors of red and yellow ochre, creating a background for the glorious frescoes all around you. Each one had bright hues portraying multiple stories, maybe even stories you've never heard of. You would make it a point to study them later and admire their eminence in full. Jogging a little to catch up to Sannes, who left you behind in your stupor at the doors, you thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working for a crook if this was his home.   
  
The servant waited for you next to a desk in the tablinum. It was connected to the atrium, ready to conduct business for a man like Zeke. Stepping up into the area, he held out a stool for you to perch yourself on. Uttering thanks, you peered behind the dominating desk to get a glimpse of what was beyond the red curtains. They fluttered in the wind originating from the hidden view, creating a calming sound. It was a quiet domus for a senator. You wondered if the other household workers were preoccupied with tasks. Did they also make the same deal with Zeke?   
  
Before you could comprehend it, a flash of brown hair and green eyes were staring into yours. “Who’re you?” Where the hell did he come from?   
  
You unconsciously moved your chair back a few inches. He was so close to you-surveying with those eyes that felt like they saw _through_ you. Behind the curtains, you heard a loud _“Eren!”_. Panic flooded his face. So this must be Eren…   
  
Upon hearing the voice he hurriedly climbed under the wooden desk and brought a small finger to his lips. “Shh.”   
  
As if that wasn’t enough to add to your confusion, a tall man with ash-hair appeared from behind the red curtains. He quickly glanced at you before looking at the space underneath the wooden desk. “What a terrible spot to hide, Eren. I can see you clearly from here.” He sounded exhausted. Eren huffed.   
  
The three of you turned to the atrium at the sound of doors opening. Seeing Zeke, his little brother scurried from the desk to the atrium. He immediately latched onto his toga.   
  
“What’s this cretin doing at home so early, Jean?” The words were sour in Zeke’s mouth. It seemed he didn’t like him, though you couldn’t say the same about the little one.   
  
“He’s trying to make me study again!” Eren whined before Jean could answer.   
  
“That’s his job, he’s your tutor.”   
  
Jean walked over to the brothers, bowing his head. “Senator Yeager, I had to bring Eren back earlier than expected. The crowds around our usual spot were a little too rowdy today.”   
  
“It’s because of the tournament! I wanted to see but Jean said no!”   
  
“You have to finish reviewing your Greek vocabulary. How will watching a gladiator help you with that?”   
  
Eren cried in frustration.   
  
Zeke finally managed to pry his brother’s hands off of his toga and made his way to you. “Eren, if you desire to see the finale of the tournament it would be best to do what’s expected.” His little face lit up. Maybe Zeke did have a soft spot for him.   
  
“Come, you fool.” Eren, now all about obedience, ran to the Senator’s side and faced you. “This is your new caretaker. Behave around her and Jean.” He told him your name.   
  
"Hello, Miss."   
  
Partially satisfied with his brother's greeting (it wasn’t going to get better than that), Zeke turned. "Jean, show her the ropes around here. Sannes, ready a room facing the garden and order some togas of her size."   
  
The two men uttered 'yes sir's' before following their respective orders. Just as quickly as he arrived, the Senator left.   
  
\-   
  
The ride to the Curia would always be a familiar, long, and bumpy one. He would always remember the swaying of the litter as it maneuvered through the crowds, laughing as his father tried to protect him from falling out the open sides. You reminded him of his younger self when the same thing happened earlier in the day.   
  
Back then, he idolized his father. Grisha Yeager was a man respected by people of all walks of life, even the snobbiest that belonged to the Senate. His memories were a little fuzzy, but Zeke would always label that period a happy time. What a shame that things turned shitty so fast.   
  
The Curia was a particularly tall building made of stone. It was modest in design compared to other statehouses, but the open and organized interior was perfect for the chaos of an assembly meeting. Climbing the steps and entering the threshold, the announcer quickly bowed before him and bellowed into space. "Censor Yeager!"   
  
The marble stands on both sides of the rectangular space were full of the body; there had to be a few hundred. Upon hearing the announcement, they all bowed with a hand over their heart. Zeke waved a casual hand and all resumed back to their bickering. He settled into his usual spot in between the Aedile, a stout man who had just assumed office last quarterly election, and Quaestor, a more familiar man named Domitius.   
  
Unlike the other senators, Zeke presided over the floor of the curia along with the other ordinary magistrates. They maintained control over the majority of the senate with both of the Consuls. One of them was arriving now, walking with a purpose across the floor.   
  
Carinu Smith was charismatic, intelligent, liked by everybody. He overwhelmingly won the election for Consul, the highest rank, leaving his rivals sour. No matter how much they would try to oppose him, the majority would always win. Carinu _controlled_ the majority. He was omnipotent in every sense of the word. It annoyed Zeke. However, he could at least tolerate him.   
  
The intolerable one was the figure trailing behind him, practically blinding the assembly in all his handsomeness and fine toga. That blasted fool, Erwin Smith.   
  
Every single body in the room stood to attention for the Consuls' arrival, including Zeke. With his hand on his heart, he watched the two golden ones greet every member of the ordinary magistrate on the floor. From his left, he heard Domitius speak.   
  
“I hear he’s planning on running for Consul in the next general election.”   
  
His head throbbed. “I expected nothing less from the oh-so-worthy Praetor, Erwin Smith.”   
  
The man stifled a laugh. “He’s done a good job as head of the military. Despite that, his career depends on the success of his father whether he likes it or not.”   
  
“Yes. Some believe action should be taken.” A quizzical look was displayed on his colleague’s face. Zeke continued. “Actions that would make his road to consul more difficult.”   
  
“Careful now,” Domitius’ tone was wary. “act hastily and you’ll make him a martyr.”   
  
The Censor smiled. Of course, he would be careful.   
  
Consul and Praetor now stood in front of Zeke’s station, ending the conversation he had with Domitius. “Consul Smith,” he bowed in Carinu’s direction, managing to keep a pleasant expression. “Praetor Smith.” His façade faltered slightly as he bowed minimally.   
  
A warm smile graced Carinu’s features. Erwin was almost an exact copy of his father. This left Zeke feeling uncomfortable. “Censor, how are the budgets coming along?”   
  
“I’m just adding the finishing touches, sir. I shall have the draft delivered to you by tomorrow morning.”   
  
“Excellent.” He moved along in the line, greeting Domitius next. Erwin hovered.

“How are you, my old friend?”   
  
“Well, I suppose.”   
  
“That’s very good to hear.” Despite Zeke’s obvious unwillingness to continue the conversation, the Praetor wore a calm and collected demeanor. He was never put off by anything, almost like he always expected the unexpected. “I was wondering if you received my proposal on a revised military budget.”   
  
Of course, he did.   
  
He wore a look of contemplation, playing the part. “I’m afraid not. I haven’t received anything of the likeness from my messenger.”   
  
Erwin smiled, seeing right through him.   
  
“Do you have any reservations for tonight? I’ll deliver it to you myself. We can discuss its contents right there and then.”

"I have prior engagements."   
  
Erwin clapped a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "Then ready an additional seat for me." He turned to his right, heading to the assigned seat of the Praetor. "I'll bring the wine." 

Damn him for knowing Zeke so well. 

-

The Senator's description of Eren was too accurate. He literally and figuratively ran into every situation head-first. To say it made you anxious would be an understatement.   
  
As soon as Zeke's established being left the premises, Eren was back to his stubborn self and immediately locked himself in an empty cubiculum. Who knows what he was doing in there. Hopefully, he was studying like he said he would.   
  
You and Jean rested on the mosaic floor next to the door, waiting for him to come out. You dreamily contemplated the peristylum perched in front of your vision. The square, green oasis in the center of the home was thoroughly bewitching. Due to the setting sun, an orange hue kissed the numerous plants and marble statues resting on the lawn. Jean told you the statue in the center, the grandest one, was the deceased master of the house. His name was Grisha Yeager, and he too was once a senator before his untimely death years ago. Your heart hurt for Eren, having to say goodbye to his father when he was only five years old.   
  
Jean was a young man of twenty years with a long face and collected demeanor. From your conversations with him in the hours of Eren's disappearance, he had good judgment and intelligence.

"Have you studied the frescos in the atrium, Jean?" The wind blew a bang into your face.   
  
"Yes, they depict stories I've never heard of. The most interesting one is of the wooden horse." He let out a sigh. "If I am ever to own a domus as fine as this one, I would have art everywhere. I'd probably never leave then, staring at the walls all day."   
  
You chuckled. "I'd be the same. They never had art of this type where I'm from." The leaves of the garden rustled. "Do you mind if I look at them for a moment?"   
  
He looked at you, a smile on his face. "No, I don’t. If the blockhead comes out I'll give you a shout."   
  
_"I heard that!"_   
  
Entering the atrium through the red curtains, you were joyed to find no one in the space. It seemed the servants didn’t work in the area much during the day; they were more active in the peristylium and kitchens.   
  
You traveled to the first fresco on the wall to your right. It displayed a horse, though it wasn’t a real one you supposed. A good number of men in plainclothes hammered away at the animal as two to the left commanded them, hands raised. Upon further inspection, there seemed to be someone crawling inside a crevice of the horse. This must be the one Jean was talking about.   
  
It puzzled you. What exactly was going on? Were they using it to hide?

Caught up in analyzing the piece, you didn’t notice the unfamiliar figure and guard entering the doors. Your hands gripped your arms in focused contemplation, unruly hair pushed out of the way to unobstruct the view. The figure, intrigued, walked to you and admired the art along with you.   
  
"Do you know the story of the Trojan Horse?"   
  
You jumped, clutching your heart at the deep voice and presence to your left. What was up with people and sneaking up on you in this place?   
  
"My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you." He chuckled.   
  
You were floored, to say the least. Never had you seen a man so beautiful as the one before you. In your head, you were raising a hand to shield your eyes from his blinding attractiveness. Did people exist like this in the city? And why did you have to jump so embarrassingly like that? _You fool!_   
  
"I-It's alright, sir." _Calm down!_ "I've never heard of the story."

He was clad in a form-fitting, purple-lined toga, meaning he must be in the senate. Would you get into trouble talking to him without permission? Or was this what Zeke wanted, for you to build trust with the others to gain information? It felt like your mind was running a mile a minute.

"Long ago, a Greek king named Odysseus came up with a very clever strategy to seize a city named Troy." He raised a hand, pointing to one of the figures commanding the workers. "That’s him; the one with the white hair." His arm brushed against your exposed one.   
  
"Odysseus was unrivaled when it came to architecture and general knowledge, so he proposed the construction of a wooden horse to trick his enemies."   
  
You tried not to look at him, eyes fixed on the fresco. "How exactly would the horse help them?"   
  
The man didn’t say anything, instead gesturing to the man who you thought was disappearing into the horse. The dots connected.   
  
"They hid in the horse to ambush the people of Troy?"   
  
A beautiful smile stretched across his face. "Precisely. The strongest Greek warriors hid inside and attacked when their foe least expected it. The trojans thought it was a symbol of surrender and brought it right into the city, too." 

You displayed a look of wonder. He admired this expression.   
  
"The story is much more detailed than the one I told just now, and for that, I must apologize for not fully expressing it in all its glory."   
  
"Don’t apologize, sir. Your version was surely sufficient in portraying at least a glimpse of the epic."   
  
He turned to face you now. Your heart thumped. Being the subject of his attention was going to make you anxious. "What is your opinion on the story?"   
  
"I think Odysseus was an extremely cunning man to come up with such a plan and execute it so easily. I could only hope that one day I'd be like him."   
  
"What is your name?" You looked at him, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t perceive. Your name rolled off your tongue and he repeated it, testing the way it sounded.   
  
Before he could tell you his name, the bronze doors opened, and in walked Zeke. You curtsied for the head of the house and quickly turned to head back into the peristylium. 

Once you passed through the curtains, you lingered. You faintly heard Zeke's voice.   
  
"So you did come, Erwin." _So that was his name._  
  
"Yes," that velvet voice spoke again. "and I kept my promise of wine. I brought one of the Chian variety."   
  
"I hate that kind."   
  
"I remember."   
  
That night, when you went to bed in a room that was too nice for a worker, you dreamed of the story of Odysseus. Somewhere among the plains of your dreamland, Erwin was there too, telling you another story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tysm for the kudos! It makes me so happy to see them :)
> 
> If you guys want to see a visual representation of Zeke's house, then watch this video. I based it on the one shown!  
> https://youtu.be/cjnURBuLcv0 
> 
> Peristylium: This is the open courtyard area of a traditional domus. 
> 
> Cubiculum: This is the private room of a member of the family. 
> 
> Curia: This a place where assemblies were held.
> 
> Consul: This is the highest elected office a person could achieve in the Senate. They exorcised power of the executive and judicial system. 
> 
> Praetor: This is the commander of an army, or an elected official who had power of the multiple systems of the Senate (usually they would not be present in the Senate, but I'm taking liberties)
> 
> Aedile: Responsible for maintenance of public buildings and regulation of public festivals.
> 
> Quaestor: Handled money and dealt with investigations of wrongdoings like murders.
> 
> Censor: Responsible for maintaining the census, supervising public morality, and overseeing certain aspects of the government's finances (for the sake of the story one of these aspects is the military)
> 
> Chian Wine: This is a wine that Ancient Greeks used to drink back in the day. It was extremely expensive in Ancient Rome.


	4. The Dire Dimachaerus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight between Gauls.

"Hey. Wake up."   
  
In your disoriented state, Zeke was pressing a cool amphora against your forehead. His tired face was illuminated by a clay oil lamp in his right hand, flickering light making him look much older than he must be.   
  
Erwin had talked his ear off for what felt like all night. It had to be the early morning hours now, and Zeke needed a drink. He needed to do something; anything to stop further torture from the Praetor. The fact that he had no shame as he walked into Zeke's house almost made him throttle the ignorant Praetor. No, he wasn’t ignorant. He knew what he was doing, like always.   
  
How were the two of them ever such good friends at one point?   
  
A laugh threatened to escape.   
  
Of course, he knew what led to this pathetic, sour attitude to develop. Would he ever forget those trying times all caused by the Smith's public outcry?   
  
Upon seeing your wakefulness, Zeke dragged a stool situated in a corner of the cubiculum to your bedside. You sat up in bed and mourned the previous assurance of a good night's dream.   
  
Resting the lamp on a nearby table, he groaned. You waited for him to speak, but he just fiddled with the terracotta amphora resting in his lap after he sat. His beard was unruly like he ran his fingers through it too much in acts of frustration.   
  
"To what do I owe this pleasure, sir?" It was hard to keep the annoyance from showing.   
  
The slumped form took a swig from the vase. It tasted divine. He managed to hold back from showing how much he enjoyed the wine while Erwin was here. Zeke wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction that he knew his preferences like the back of his hand. It was childish for a man in his late twenties, but he didn’t care.   
  
"Were you talking to Erwin when I came in?" Blue eyes were icy as they searched yours, even in the warmth of the flame.   
  
Feeling as if you’ve done something wrong, you instinctively gripped the sheets pooled around your hands for comfort.   
  
"Yes, he was telling me about the Trojan Horse from the fresco." 

That Casanova. He never could pass up the chance to tell a story to a beautiful woman, could he? At least in that regard, Zeke was one step ahead.   
  
"Do you think he's taken a liking to you?" He shifted and laid elbows on his knees. Shaking his head, "No, that doesn’t matter. You'll make him like you."   
  
"And what exactly does that mean?"   
  
Another swig. "Nothing of importance at the moment."   
  
"Do you not like him?" He pawed at his head. It was starting to throb. "Why not?"   
  
Zeke's head snapped upwards. You were perceptive. You cowered.   
  
"What is your opinion on curiosity?" He gripped the amphora tightly. It looked like it might break from the force.   
  
"What do you mean, sir?" Voice was small.   
  
"Do you think it a fault or a virtue?" His demeanor was sharper, more serious than you've seen it in the short time of acquaintanceship.   
  
Your body shifted more towards the wall, away from him. "A virtue, I suppose."   
  
"You're partly wrong." He stood then, snatching the oil lamp. "The first lesson you shall learn from me is that curiosity is as much of a fault as it is a virtue." At that, Zeke turned around and left, softly shutting the door closed behind him. It was dark and cold now in the cubiculum.   
  
Pieck was standing outside the door, waiting for him. He walked to the opposite end of the peristylium. She followed as she always did.   
  
“Did you have any luck while I was suffering at dinner?”   
  
She shook her head, onyx bangs falling into her face.   
  
Zeke ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I didn’t want to do it, but it seems we might have to resort to Jean when the time comes. I need assurances.” He stopped then, facing Pieck. “Will you come to the Colosseum in a few days with us?”   
  
Her face contorted into an unreadable expression, almost painful. “I don’t want to cause trouble. They won’t be happy to see me if I’m in the stands.”   
  
Zeke’s hand rested on the door handle that lead to his quarters. “Do you care that much? They’re just old colleagues if you think about it.”   
  
“I abandoned them.”   
  
“It’s a game of survival. You just happened to make it out of there.” The handle turned, and he walked into the room. “The offer stands. I’m going to converse with the Dire Dimachaerus while I’m there. Get his opinion on some things.”   
  
At this, Pieck appeared forlorn. She clutched the hilt of the blade hanging from her belt, knuckles turning white. Those cold, detached, and grey eyes that felt like an all-knowing presence flashed in her mind.   
  
\-   
  
The following days after Zeke visited in the night left you in limbo. You didn’t get a wink of sleep that night, mind overly active with explanations for it. The first possible explanation was that he needed comfort - an ear to listen. That didn’t seem the case the more you thought about it as that one phrase he uttered threw you for a loop.   
  
_"Do you think he's taken a liking to you? It doesn’t matter, you'll make him like you."_   
  
Just what exactly did that mean? Was his plan to ultimately have you gain information from Erwin? It seemed to be the most likely possibility at the moment. You were itching to ask Jean or anybody questions about the family, but Zeke's warning about curiosity resurfaced in your mind before you could.

Jean is the most likely candidate for knowledge if you _do_ decide to take that risk, you concluded.   
  
Zeke doesn’t spend that much time in the domus during the day, so for that, you were grateful. Those few times you did see him, his face was fixed in a frown. You wouldn’t have to tread too carefully at all times, only when he or his guard was home.   
  
It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Eren. He didn’t talk much at first, but once the two of you got into a stimulating conversation about his physical training, he wouldn’t shut up. He would surely get along with Emilian.   
  
At least you could take a step back and relax when the daily study session occurred. Their regular spot seemed to be on the steps of the temple across the way from the Colosseum, Eren's favorite place. You would perch yourself comfortably amongst the marble, occasionally watching as Eren and Jean studied numerous topics. He wasn’t extremely intelligent, you deduced, but he made up for it in the sheer amount of determination present in his small body. When you'd get tired of listening to Jean's lecturing, people-watching and admiring the architecture of the Colosseum proved a great way to pass time.   
  
Eren managed to concentrate most of the time, only faltering when the sun was high in the sky and their allotted time was ending. As you walked alongside him, suspended upwards in the litter when you headed home, he rambled on about the finale of the tournament that was tomorrow. It took you by surprise when he asked you and Jean to come. Usually, people of your sex were expected to take the highest seats at the top - never to sit up close among the others. Jean explained that if you were invited by the Senator, you would have the right to sit close to the floor. The chance to experience what you've wanted for years – it was within your grasp.   
  
The head-first boy waited for Zeke to come home that night. For someone who was so aloof around him, Eren sure did love him. You sat with him next to the impluvium which was filling with water. It was a rainy night, and the water droplets that fell down the roof reflected orange from the fires in the atrium. He'd just finished telling you another tiring story about his physical training when the Senator walked in. He was wearing his usual getup but he seemed to don a more light-hearted expression.   
  
Eren wasted no time in asking Zeke's permission for Jean and yours attendance, to which he reluctantly agreed. You hid an excited smile, and soon let it show when Eren was preparing to head to bed. He explained that the infamous Dire Dimachaerus was facing off against a strong general from a conquered nation before finally falling asleep.   
  
You hurriedly cleaned up and locked yourself in your room, double-checking the lock. There would be no way Zeke would enter for another unexpected nightly torture session. Not of your own volition.   
  
\-   
  
Eren was awake at the crack of dawn the following morning, practically bouncing off of the walls. He talked Jean and yours ears off as the two of you ate breakfast, barely stopping for air. It ultimately got better when the three of you and Zeke were all headed to the Colosseum by mid-day, dressed in your best clothes to represent the Yeager's and their household. The new, ankle-length tunic felt cool on your skin despite the blistering sun high in the sky. Jean's tunic was of a similar style but ended above his knees; both displayed a stitched eagle on the right breast.   
  
The crowds on the East side of the travertine stone monstrosity were astounding in size. Crowds of that sample always left you feeling anxious, but the litter headed for the opposite side of the stadium. This was where the extinguished members of Roman society would enter, far away from that of the common people.   
  
Eren and Zeke climbed out of the large litter and paved the way inside: past the numerous stone archways, stairs, and guards keeping watch. All of you entered a long hallway, and at the end spotted sunlight peeking through an opening. As your feet clattered quickly along the floor, your heartbeat fell in tune. You neared closer and closer until you passed through and were suddenly in what felt like the center of the universe.   
  
There had to have been thousands upon thousands of people in the stands that climbed high, the sound loud with the sea of people's voices and instruments tuning up. It was a collection of gray and red stone on the steps where people sat. The level you all stood on was closest to the dirt battleground – a perk for the Senators. It was everything you could've dreamed of.   
  
Jean walked by your side as you all headed for your seats. He let a smile slip at your awe. "Magnificent, isn't it?"   
  
"How could I say it's anything but?" Your voice was dreamy, eyes staring up at the red shades drawn to cool down the audience.   
  
All of you sat down upon arriving at your seats, right in the middle of the first row where the majority of the action would occur. Eren was to your right, Jean to your left.   
  
"I was like you when I first came here, almost stunned into silence."   
  
A laugh. "Can you believe I once wanted to be a gladiator when I was a child?"   
  
Jean wore a look of surprise, a toothy grin showing. "I was the same. However, it seems I'm much more suited for books than physical prowess."   
  
Loud horns abruptly sang a chivalrous tune, to which the crowd (and Eren) deafeningly cheered.   
  
"It's starting!" Eren exclaimed, excitedly grabbing your arm.   
  
To your right proudly stood the emperor's box. It was ornate in design. Gold color distinguished it from the collection of red and gray all around. It was only a few yards away, and you could see a man dressed in a sold purple toga. He neared the ledge of his private seating and waved a practiced hand to the crowd. Your breath hitched. This was as close as you would ever get to see someone of such immense power - the Emperor.   
  
The mass began to quiet as he situated himself in a relatively decorated chair. There were multiple people on both sides of him, and you recognized a notable figure standing to the right. He stood in a distinguished fashion, staring out at the dirt battleground that would soon be stained red. Erwin.   
  
His eminence raised a hand to a man on the left who bowed before him and heeded to the railing of the box. He cleared his throat and brought a speaking trumpet to his mouth, beginning to address the crowd.   
  
"Romani, today we gather for the fifth tournament's close. What a journey the past week has been!" He raised a hand in cheer, and the people roared. "We've seen gory fights of defeat and triumph with tigers and other exotic creatures from around the world. However, what shall we see this day, I wonder?"   
  
"Many years ago the Roman Army, under the command of Consul Carinu Smith at the time, conquered a land named Gaul. In this land of savages, there was a powerful family of warriors called the Ackermans. They taught their children to fight in a way unique to the clan and preached about _striving for superiority_ among others. One of the gladiators here, today, is a descendant from this clan."   
  
"Before he was the age of twelve, he was a master of his craft. When his land was conquered, he was captured by the army and taken to become a gladiator one day. To ultimately die for this empire, what a lovely honor he was given. Despite the years of hard training, he persevered and grew to such an esteemed station that he still graces us with his perfected technique as entertainment."   
  
"Romani, your emperor is pleased to give you the survivor of the tournament, the Dire Dimachaerus!"   
  
The throng was almost uncontrollable at this point, awaiting the entrance of the man. From across the dirt floor, you saw a wooden entrance that was once barred open. The Dimachaerus entered, though you couldn’t see much of him from this distance. As he traveled to the front of the Emperor’s box, he became more discernible.   
  
He had pale, milky skin adorned with scars of all shapes and sizes, focused more on his arms. The hair on his head was messy, black as night, and framing a serious face. Emilian was right in his imitation of him. You smiled.   
  
The tunic he wore - white with a red border - was adorned with a red-dyed sash that hung over his shoulder and secured in place by a belt. Attached to the leather were two swords placed in their respective holders, moving with each step he took. Something about him was captivating - maybe it was his presence.   
  
"However, even though the Dire Dimachaerus defeated all his opponents in this tournament, another man survived, in a sense striving for superiority. This man was once a great general of the army of Gaul, but when his land was conquered, he hid well enough to evade the Romani for years. The magistrates of that province outsmarted him though, and he was found this past year. Thus, he was sent to our lovely city of Rome to one day – this day – participate in the games."   
  
Eren seemed to nearly shiver in anticipation.   
  
"Romani, again, your emperor is very pleased to give you this battle of the Gauls! May it commence with the blessing of His Grace!"   
  
Looking back to the Dimachaerus, he now kneeled in respect before the Emperor with his hand on his heart. You wondered how that made him feel. To have to kneel and show respect to a man that approved of his home being desecrated. To ultimately have to kill someone of his kind all in the name of survival. How much of his life was taken from him?   
  
A tall, well-built man with tanned skin and a bald head made his way to the Emperor's box. He originated from where the Dimachaerus had entered, so he had to be the general from Gaul. As he knelt like his opponent for His Eminence, only then did you realize the striking difference between the two. Compared to the black-haired counterpart, he seemed to be a giant.   
  
The General seemed to be an Eques, considering the gear he brought into the ring. He wore light armor: greaves that protected his legs, and a manica on his right arm. Other than that, he too was wearing a tunic – although it was one of minimal design. Across the way, you could see a horse donning a saddle entering the chamber from the underground elevator system. It was a white stallion who erupted from the ground, held from running away by a few men. That was the Eques' horse.   
  
Looking back to the two kneeling gladiators, His Eminence finally raised a hand in response to their respect. The game would now commence.   
  
The horns were blaring once again as they readied themselves in the center of the floor, a good distance between them. The white stallion was then let go from its human restraints, who then, in turn, disappeared through the hidden elevator system. It was galloping around the length of the stadium when the Dimachaerus unsheathed his swords, gripping the right one just like Emilian had shown you. He seemed focused – like he was in his element. Like this was an ordinary day job that required his attention.   
  
The Eques readied his armor and spear before loudly whistling, fingers from his right hand in his mouth to amplify the sound. The stallion was now heading towards him, but it was still a few moments away. In response to the action, the Dimachaerus charged forward without hesitation. His strategy was to somehow incapacitate the Eques before he mounted his horse – before things grew complicated.   
  
His left sword instantly swung to the vulnerable, unshielded side of the man's body when he reached him, but the General was quick and barely managed to dodge it with a scratch. He was an assaulting force, insidious like the Romani called him. This quarrel did not last for long though, as the raven-haired gladiator had to back off with the arrival of the horse. He had to be careful now.   
  
The tall man now trotted along on the back of the horse, circling the swordsman. There was nothing to protect him from the long spear clutched in his hand now, he concluded, and thus took a strike. He surely thought he was going to pierce him in his shoulder from this angle, but the right sword the Dimacherus wielded effortlessly pushed it away with a second to spare. The crowd roared.   
  
The Eques distanced himself from the shorter man and tried to gather his thoughts and hopefully plan out a strategy to survive. This was still going to prove to be a difficult fight, no matter the outcome.   
  
The white stallion suddenly jerked and yelled with the appearance of a tiger – a bloody tiger of all things – that appeared like Satan's spawn from the elevator system next to them. If he didn't guide the horse fast enough to the left, it would've surely incapacitated it and he could've been finished.   
  
From a few yards away, the Dimachaerus watched the encounter like a hawk. That would be his plan. Try to corner them in between him and that chained-down monstrosity. He wanted to laugh. Just how sadistic was it to already force people to fight to the death, and now you wanted to throw an animal in for some stupid variety? Whatever. He didn't care as long as he didn’t have to fight the damn tiger.   
  
The General neared him again, readying for a second spear attack. He was charging, hoping that he could counteract the fast reflexes of his opponent with speed. This was a foolish plan though. His accuracy would decrease somewhat now because of the speed, leaving his horse vulnerable to a slashing – which is exactly what the swordsman did. As he was evading the spear, he cut the inner part of the stallion's back leg. It yelped.   
  
The horse wasn’t out of commission as he hoped though, it was only moving just a little bit slower. It didn’t matter. Something was better than nothing in this ghastly situation.   
  
Frightened. That was what the Eques was. The Dimachaerus didn’t just have physical prowess; he was cool and calculating. It didn’t help that the organizers of the battle put him in an impossible position in this fight, he thought. However, a shining light of hope appeared. Another chained tiger appeared on the opposite side of the other, effectively boxing them in the center.   
  
Even though the swordsman managed to slash his transportation, the General was still at an advantage of evading those tigers. He couldn’t say the same for his opponent, but he didn’t want to make too many predictions in the case he was proven wrong – which seemed to be quite a few times already.   
  
They stared each other down, waiting for the other to move. When the shorter man didn’t budge, the horseman decided to take action and readied his spear again. What an utterly useless weapon. He just wanted this to be over with.   
  
Even though he tried to use a different strategy, the execution ultimately fell back into the similar one that left his horse slashed. This time, the leg was cleanly sliced off. He was ejected from his horse and landed on the dirt floor with a loud thud. It was an utter miracle he didn’t go flying into the mouth of a blood-thirsty tiger. Was there any difference though between that and the Dimachaerus, who now had a blade to his throat?   
  
He surely thought he was done for, but there was a crack in the swordsman's cool façade. _Hesitation_.   
  
A pitiful man is what he was.   
  
Taking advantage of that, he pushed him off with his manica and rose to his feet. He made a dash to his spear that was now broken in two, picking up the piece with the blade in his left hand. Turning around to search for the man, he was already behind him, tackling him to the ground.   
  
They wrestled around in the dirt for what felt like ages until the Eques managed to turn the tables – literally and figuratively. He was now the one on top, trying desperately to pin the Dimachaerus to the ground. He thought he could overpower him with size alone, but the experienced gladiator was stronger than any man he fought. _So this is the rumored strength of the Ackermans?_  
  
Noticing a crack in the General's defense, the circumstances were reversed when there was a swift quick in between the legs. It was a cheap shot, but the Dimachaerus had to survive. He still had things he needed to see and accomplish. It seemed like the horde collectively groaned in pain at the sight.   
  
His foot was placed on top of the bald man's chest now, pinning him to the ground. His left blade was once again pressed to the Eques' throat. There would be no hesitation this time. As soon as the Emperor would give his verdict, the deed would be carried out. His prey wore a dejected face.   
  
The two of them ended up near the stands where the senators sat, a few yards away from the Emperor's box. He glanced towards His Eminence who was now approaching the ledge, waiting. The crowds cheered. It all disgusted him.   
  
Finally, he saw the Emperor raise out a hand with his thumb facing down. The General was to be killed.   
  
It was loud with the people’s desire for bloodshed. Hurriedly, the Dimachaerus spoke, looking into the dark eyes of the man below. “What is your name?”   
  
He sputtered, caught off guard. “Keith Shadis.”   
  
“Keith Shadis, you fought gallantly against me.” Sword was raised in the air, readying to strike.   
  
A flash of familiar blonde hair and blue eyes caught his attention in the stands. That monkey Zeke was here, along with three others: a little boy, a young man, and a woman. He looked at _you_ – grey eyes burning into yours. _It seems he's found another victim to do his bidding_.   
  
"You," Keith choked out. "your name?"   
  
His attention was back on him. "Levi Ackerman."   
  
A sad smile.   
  
"May you strive for freedom and superiority, even in death."

The blade was painted red with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Levi is finally here!
> 
> Amphora: A type of vase used in Ancient Rome.
> 
> Romani: Stands for the people of Rome.
> 
> Eques: A gladiator who typically fights with a horse. Usually, they only fight others like them, but the people wanted to spice it up.
> 
> Greaves: Armor that protected the shins.
> 
> Manica: An arm guard/shield that is typically made of bronze or iron.


	5. A Better Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One reminisces about a better time while another seemingly enters theirs.

_"Levi!"_  
  
 _His mother's voice was faint, strong wind that rustled the fields of wheat all around him almost drowning out her melodic song._  
  
 _He was situated in a clearing in the field, bottom resting on the dirt ground and knees pressed to his chest. His face was cold from tears as the gale washed over him. They came hard and fast: originating from grey eyes, rolling down bruised cheeks, and falling from his soft chin down to the dirt. There was a darker spot in the muck now, caused by the buildup of dejectedness. Mother wouldn’t want to see him like this: crying and all black and blue. So, he hid in the seemingly never-ending sphere of wheat that lay next to his quaint home._  
  
 _Levi didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, but the sun was beginning to set. An orange hue had blanketed the land, and he took a second to admire the sight before him. Living in the sticks was annoying sometimes, but he did admit it was gorgeous during this time of day. The landscape was almost untouched as far as the eye could see, save for the wooden house he and his mother resided in._  
  
 _Somewhere from behind him, he heard familiar footsteps._  
  
 _There were no more tears on his face, but the little boy quickly rubbed his face with the sleeve of his shirt to rid any evidence of his previous disposition. There was no way to hide the bruises though, and that action ultimately seemed redundant in hindsight._  
  
 _A raven-haired woman erupted from the tall wheat in front of Levi, a worried expression quickly enveloping her features upon the sight of her son._  
  
 _"Levi, what happened?" She was now kneeling in front of him, dirtying her modest dress._  
  
 _"Nothing." He cursed himself. When he was trying to feign normalcy, his hoarse voice betrayed him._  
  
 _Her grey eyes flitted across his figure, gauging his condition. Determining the damage wasn’t as bad as previous times, she rose to her feet and sighed._  
  
 _"Come on, let's get home and clean you up. I just finished making some stew."_  
  
 _A hand was extended towards the boy. He reluctantly took it and began to follow his Mother._  
  
 _They walked along the tree-lined path for what felt like an eternity. The house at the end of the line grew bigger and bigger with each step, but it was still a good way back. Hand clutching his mother's firmly, Levi felt a calmness wash over him. No matter how terrible he felt, her touch always comforted him._  
  
 _The wooden floor creaked under their weight when they walked into the kitchen of the home and quieted slightly when the little boy hoisted himself on a seat at the small dining table. He watched his mother make her way towards him, a rag and vase of water in hand._  
  
 _It was still in the room save for the sound of the rag dipping into the water and small whimpers emitting from Levi. It always hurt when she tried to clean his face up after a particularly rough day._  
  
 _When she was somewhat satisfied with her job, she put on a serious expression._  
  
 _“Is it that hard to get along with the few neighbors we have?” Mother sounded tired._  
  
 _He looked anywhere but her eyes, mind racing. There was so much he wanted to explain to her; to stop her from worrying about him. But he concluded he shouldn’t, considering the whole reason he received these scars was because he was trying to defend his mother’s honor._  
  
 _The few other kids in the area all lived on their separate plots of land with their respective families. Levi was never a sociable one, but he had hoped to make some friends here when they first arrived. Their previous residence was one far away from other children, and the only other person they would see was his distant, abusive father._  
  
 _The small group of three boys were kind to him at first and adopted him into their activities of mischief and great fun. Many afternoons they spent exploring the fields and hidden alcoves all while telling hopes and dreams of their futures. He would never admit it, but those times of peace were ones he would never forget._  
  
 _One night when Levi had stayed over at a friend’s house, things began to change. The parents were apprehensive towards him and refused to talk to his mother when she came the next day to collect him. “Whore,” he heard them call her. She tried to hide it, but he could hear her sniffling on the walk back home._  
  
 _They began to bully him after that, and Levi was never one to back down from a fight. It was worth it if he could defend his mother. Out of anyone in the whole world, she was the least deserving of the hate she received. It seemed no matter where they went, there was always a glowing ember of detest._  
  
 _“Levi,” her hand ran through his black locks, massaging the painful bump on the back of his head. “I don’t want you to fight those boys anymore. No matter what they say, you shouldn’t give them the time of day.”_  
  
 _His eyes threatened to tear up. She had a habit of bringing the pent-up emotions out of him._  
  
 _“I don’t want you to hurt people. I want you to grow up into someone who others can look up to. A good person.”_  
  
 _The grey eyes of her son were now glassy._  
  
 _“Come here,”_  
  
 _He was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, enveloped by the consolatory presence that was his mother. In the confines of her arms, he felt as if all was tranquil._  
  
\-   
  
The hot water ran over his skin for what felt like an eternity. What was once a pale, cool-toned epidermis was now red and hot to the touch. There was no more blood on his skin; it washed away and escaped down the drain a long time ago. Despite that, he felt like it was still there - permeating the cells and poisoning him with guilt of the man’s life he took. He grabbed the sponge again, readying it for another round of scrubbing.   
  
The last time he could remember feeling like this was during the aftermath of his first game. He was fifteen years old, and his opponent was a much wiser man. Death faced him multiple times that summer day, but never took him. He would always remember the look on that man's face when he killed him. Tears and blood running down his wrinkled skin, eyes boring into his, and tormenting sobs emitting from lips.   
  
Now, among the countless other victims, a man named Keith Shadis was committed to memory.   
  
It was hard to do, but it had to be done. He had to survive. Pitying himself in the aftermath was a small price to pay for taking another man's life.   
  
Levi sat down on the stone bench and ran the porous object over his shoulders and chest. It glided skillfully across the plains before stopping at that mark under his arm. It was a circular brand that now left his skin scarred in design - a sword crossed with wheat, encased in a circle. The symbol of the Ackerman clan that was once so great, reminded him so much of his home. It seemed every time he ran his calloused fingers over it in contemplation, his younger self would ask him: _What would Mother think of you now?_   
  
"Skin's gonna fall off if you keep goin' at it like that, kid."   
  
The Gladiator raised his head, seeing an all too familiar figure. Kenny.   
  
"Need something?" Levi discarded the sponge in the bucket of soap and grabbed a cloth, beginning to dry off his irritated skin.   
  
The older man let out a sigh and ran his fingers through graying hair. "That politician is here," he studied his nephew carefully. "should probably talk to him."   
  
"I didn’t plan on talking to that scum any time soon."   
  
"Don’t be dumb. We can't take any chances."   
  
Levi stood now, quiet as he dressed in his tunic and fastened his shoes.   
  
"What, you talk to him or something?"   
  
"Yeah, he mentioned _Kuchel_ by name."   
  
The Gladiator froze. Before he could ask any questions, Kenny crossed his arms and began to head out the door.   
  
"Don’t know much more than you. He wouldn’t tell me anythin' else unless ya were there."   
  
The walk to Zeke was a long one. Levi's head felt dizzy with possible explanations, but none made sense. How did he know his mother's name? Even if Pieck, who he knew worked for that crook as his guard, told him about his mother, she never knew her name.   
  
_Is she still alive?_   
  
"Levi."   
  
He heard that irritating voice in front of him all too soon. Zeke was perched comfortably on a stone bench in the dark and empty common room of the barracks. He looked out of place there in all his station and decorated toga. The underground of the Colosseum was for slaves, not for senators.   
  
"How do you know her name?"   
  
Zeke smiled. It irked Levi.   
  
"I don’t know if I'm quite catching on to what you mean, boy."   
  
Kenny stepped forward from his place behind his nephew, placing a hand on his shoulder before he could throttle the man.   
  
"Hey now, sir, pretty sure I heard ya mention my sister's name when conversin' with me."   
  
"Yes, your sister." He had the gall to look enlightened like he finally understood Levi's question. "I’ll be more than willing to provide answers if you’ll agree to help me with a particular problem.”   
  
“And what exactly is this problem?”   
  
Levi prided himself on his self-control. No matter what life seemed to throw at him in his years, he always managed to push through and keep a calm demeanor. However, he was almost at his limit. The Gladiator tried to remain quiet.   
  
For so long, he spent nights wondering what had happened to his mother. He thought of almost every outcome but always concluded that no matter the situation it was highly unlikely he was to ever see her face again. It was easier to think of her as dead rather than convincing himself of something improbable.   
  
“I need you to get rid of someone for me. A _pest_ , if you will.”   
  
“I’m not interested in murdering more than what’s expected of me,” Levi spat. “and how do I know you’re not talking out of your ass as usual right now?”   
  
“It’s simple,” Zeke rose to his feet, moving to Levi’s guarded persona. “either choose to believe me and learn the truth of what happened to your poor mother, or remain in the dark for the rest of your short life as the _Dire Dimachaerus_.”   
  
He turned around slowly, heading for the exit across the common room.   
  
“I’m afraid I can’t indulge any more details unless the two of you agree to my proposition. On the occasion you enter a more agreeable state, I’m sure you will be more than eager to find out who this pest I’ve spoken of is. This proposal is of mutual interest.”   
  
The Senator looked over his shoulder, stopping at the doorway.   
  
“On the first day of the new month, I will send a carriage to the colosseum when the moon is highest in the sky. It will take you to my home, where you will tell me your final decision.” He turned around and left the room. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”   
  
Kenny let a breath he’d been holding free. He plopped himself down on the same bench Zeke had inhabited.   
  
“Sure knows how to put someone in a tough spot, eh?”   
  
Levi crossed his arms, eyebrows furrowed and mind fuzzy. “Are you really surprised? He did the same thing to Pieck.”   
  
“Ah, that little badger. At least she seemed somewhat happy to be of use to that man. Now you,” the older man stroked his sparse beard, contemplating his nephew’s countenance. It would be hard to decipher for a stranger, but he knew Levi like the back of his hand. “ya just look like a hot mess. Got that same look from ya brat days when I beat your ass too much.”   
  
Levi ignored his uncle, sitting opposite of him.   
  
“Should we trust him?”   
  
“You’re actin’ like we have much of a choice in the first place. He was right when he said ya could live the rest of your life not knowin’ a thing.” His grey eyes bore into similar, smaller ones. “We’ve been in this stink for over ten years and only just now are we presented wit’ an opportunity. We ought to take whatever we poor folk can get. Even if it means killin' someone."   
  
\-   
  
Your second week of employment proved to be uneventful compared to the first. Not like much could top a Colosseum game and the meeting of a handsome senator named Erwin, anyways.   
  
Despite the time that passed since the game, Eren was still baffled that the Dire Dimachaerus had looked him in the eye. If you didn’t know any better, you would've thought Eren had the biggest crush on that raven-haired man. He never shut up about him after that game and even made you play the role of another gladiator the Dimachaerus had slain in the public gardens in the city. To say it was an embarrassment was an understatement. You'd never forget the disgusted looks aimed at the two of you, but it was hard not to feel too bad about it when Eren beamed like the sun whenever you entertained him. Jean would watch from the sidelines, a scroll in his lap and mind full of thoughts that the two of you had a screw loose.   
  
Playing gladiator didn’t seem to do much for you ever since you came home from the game. What was once a favorite pastime for your younger self now felt like a chore to please Eren. You expected to leave there feeling exhilarated and proud when the Dire Dimachaerus slew his opponent's throat, but you found yourself departing in a depressive state. You blamed your overly empathetic conscious, but the look on the General's face as he stared at his killer shook something within you. It reminded you of your father when he took his last breath. A look that depicted regret and the unknown abyss that was death. You watched the blade slice his neck, sharp enough to cut the head clean off, and saw the life quickly drain from his dark eyes. It was gruesome and violent.   
  
The sight of the Dimachaerus holding the poor man's head like a souvenir to the crowd made your stomach churn. He turned round and round, displaying it for all to see before stopping in front of your station once more. From there you could see his face. It was stoic. When his eyes unexpectedly met yours once again, you saw him for the man he was. Though he didn’t look much like one at that moment; more like a lost boy who was forced to do what his oppressors wanted of him.   
  
You tried not to think too much about him, choosing to focus on your job and trying to remain cautious around Zeke. That was going to prove to be a little difficult now, especially when he was summoning you to the tablinum right this very moment.   
  
You walked behind Sannes through the peristylium which was brightly lit with the early afternoon sun, anxious. When you entered the tablinum through the red curtains, the Senator was seated at his desk and diligently rolling up a scroll.   
  
Trying to make yourself sound confident, "You asked for me, sir?"   
  
His blue eyes quickly scanned your figure from top to bottom, and his head nodded in what seemed like approval. "Good," he placed the scroll in a leather satchel, fastening the buckle closed and then holding it out to you. "deliver this to the Praetor."   
  
"The Praetor...?" You reluctantly accepted the satchel, carefully holding it in your hands. "Is the messenger not available?"   
  
"He's busy delivering other things of senatorial importance," he waved a hand dismissively. "and the Praetor is Erwin Smith. He lives not too far from here." Zeke seemed to roll his eyes in disgust at the last sentence.   
  
He handed you a scrap of parchment containing the description and address of the Praetor's house. "Don’t leave until you see him open the scroll with your own two eyes. And keep your ears open if others are around. You'll be paid handsomely when you return."   
  
He didn’t have to tell you twice when money was involved. You happily walked out of the bronze doors, wondering what delicacy you should buy from the market when you get paid. Should you get something for Eren and Jean too?   
  
The roads of Zeke's upscale neighborhood were bustling as usual with workers and litters traveling to and fro. Most of the houses here were gorgeous and huge, places you only could've imagined a few weeks ago. The breeze felt nice and cool on your skin as you clutched the satchel hanging onto your body close to your person. You learned your lesson. Nobody would be trying to steal from you today.   
  
After a good walk of ten minutes, you stood in front of a house similar in design to Zeke's. It appeared to match the description he wrote down on the parchment, which said: the biggest domus on Via Equus painted annoyingly yellow.

His description was surely accurate.   
  
There was a long line of guards standing on the perimeter of the front of the domus, all dressed in the typical red uniform of the Roman Empire's Army. You cautiously neared the doors, flinching when the guard to the right of the entrance blocked it with his tall and well-trained body. His deep and strong voice startled you.   
  
"State your business with the Praetor."   
  
Cursing your nerves, you shakily responded. "I'm delivering this scroll to the Praetor on behalf of Zeke Yeager of the Senate. He said it's of importance."   
  
The guard held out his large hand, expecting you to place the scroll in his hand. You didn’t obey.   
  
"The Senator told me that I shall hand it to the Praetor directly."   
  
He gave you a once over and nodded his head, finally giving in a little.   
  
"Follow me."   
  
Through the wooden doors was a layout similar to Zeke's domus but on a much larger scale. It was unbelievably bright in there, with a vaulted ceiling, vibrant red and white walls, and numerous wooden doors in the atrium. It felt like a breath of fresh air.   
  
The floor had decorative, onyx mosaics and contrasting white ones around the rectangular impluvium filled with water. It was so clear that you could see your reflection in the water. You looked good. Not like it mattered much, anyway.   
  
The area where you had expected to see Erwin, the tablinum, was empty. The guard led you swiftly through it, hardly giving you a chance to look in wonder at the numerous frescoes and decorated ceiling.   
  
Walking through the peristylium now, it smelled extremely fresh. There were numerous citrus trees in the center garden, with lemons and oranges heavily weighing down branches. What you would give to try one right now...  
  
Finally, you found yourself in what you assumed was Erwin's private office. It was large: the walls were painted a soft green with multiple wooden cabinets that housed numerous shelves of scrolls. The environment seemed fit for a knowledgeable man like him. You smiled.   
  
As the guard moved out of your line of sight and stood to attention at the right, you saw the Praetor in all his prestige sat at his large desk. His brows were furrowed as he focused on the parchment in front of him intently. He didn’t notice your presence until the guard cleared his throat and announced your identity.   
  
"Commander Smith, sir, there is a messenger here from Censor Zeke Yeager's residence."   
  
You curtsied promptly for a show of respect but he didn’t see it, eyes still focused on whatever was in front of him. You hurriedly dug in the satchel, pulling out the scroll and holding it in front of you with both hands.   
  
"Sir, Senator Zeke Yeager wanted me to deliver this to you straight away. He told me to not leave your residence until I see you open it."   
  
At the sound of your voice, he looked up straight into your eyes. If he kept looking at you like that, you were sure you might implode. You looked down, pretending to be modest.   
  
The scroll was gently taken from your hands by his much larger ones and placed gently on this desk. You quickly glanced at him again, and he was still studying you.   
  
"I did not know you were Zeke's messenger..." his deep voice trailed off at the end, curious.   
  
"I'm not, sir," you moved the annoying piece of hair hanging in your face back in place. "I'm currently employed as Eren Yeager's caretaker. The messenger was busy with other important duties, the Senator said."  
  
A small smile. "I see."   
  
Erwin turned towards the guard who still stood at attention. "Miche, you may return to your post. I shall be alright here."   
  
"Sir!"   
  
He saluted strongly to his commander and swiftly walked out of the room. Now it was just you and the Praetor. You grew nervous.   
  
The man was brilliant; surely he knows something is going on, right? Hopefully, your doubts aren't painted all over your face like they usually are. That would be a shame.   
  
You awkwardly stood there under his gaze, gripping the body strap of the satchel in your sweaty hands. It was times like these that you wished you had more experience in the confidence and social department.   
  
Abruptly, he rose from his seat and traveled to you.   
  
Confusion. "You're not going to read the scroll, sir?"   
  
There was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Not yet," He headed towards one of the wooden shelves on the left side of the room, searching among the countless rolled-up parchment for a particular title. "Zeke stated that you shouldn't leave until you see me open it, correct?"   
  
"Yes, sir."   
  
Erwin seemed to find what he was looking for as he grabbed a particularly thick scroll from the stack and turned around, a toothy grin showing. _This man couldn’t be human_ , you thought.   
  
"So, allow me to be a little greedy and waste some of your time." He walked back to you, handing you the parchment roll. "This is the first part of the Odyssey. The story of Odysseus from the fresco."   
  
"Sir," you started, holding the scroll carefully as if it might break in your hands. "I can't possibly accept this from you..."   
  
"Nonsense." He clasped his hands behind his back in finality. "Ever since I've told you the story, I was afraid one day you'd never experience the greatness of its entirety. You reading it will help me rest easier at night."   
  
You felt like you might cry. Jean would be ecstatic to read it too... though you didn’t really want to share.  
  
"When you finish it, please return and choose another to read from my collection. Most of them just sit around collecting dust, so I'm sure they would be happy to have a new reader like you marvel at their words."   
  
You held the scroll to your chest, watching him return to sit at the desk. He then opened the parchment Zeke had you deliver.   
  
"You've seen me open the parchment, so now you may return."   
  
Your face stretched into the widest grin it's adopted in a while. Teeth and all were showing. "Thank you, sir. I promise as soon as I return home I shall start reading..." Your being felt dreamy.   
  
He nodded his head in goodbye, and you swiftly left the room. Standing outside of his line of sight, you carefully placed the Odyssey into the satchel and soon left the domus. Along the way home, you happily sang a tune. No longer would you have to dream about what Odysseus's adventures were like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me so many times to rewrite...
> 
> The underground of the Colosseum: Usually, gladiators would live in prison-like fortresses outside of the Colosseum. Since there were already a lot of tunnels and stuff down underneath the Colosseum, I made it to where the gladiators live there underground. A parallel to Levi living in the underground in the main story!
> 
> Here's what I used for reference for Erwin's house!
> 
> https://youtu.be/ETd7pszxhnc


	6. The Smiths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two plotters and an orator.

“Run off like that again and I’ll make your life hell, Eren.”   
  
Huffing, you and Jean stood at the far end of the market situated in the Forum. It was busier than usual today due to the news a politician was going to announce their run for consulship on the Rostra. Jean, moving onto the public speaking portion of his tutoring, decided to have the three of you witness a _“true master”_ for the introduction. Whoever it was, it seemed you didn’t care much for politics considering women couldn’t vote in the first place. _Stupid men and their superiority complexes._  
  
Having arrived a little early with a full coin purse, you decided to treat the two of them to some delicacies the market had to offer. Eren, so excited to eat something that wasn’t prepared by the household staff, ran off in search of the most delectable item he could find. You and Jean ran after him like idiots, bumping into many patrons of the market and hearing swears aimed at you. When you finally found him, he ran up a monstrous bill for the number of sweets clutched in his grubby little hands. A tear threatened to fall as you reluctantly handed the lump sum of 20 silver denarii to the woman working the stand.   
  
Heading towards the comitium now, you and Jean entered an idle conversation about yourselves. You learned his mother lived and worked in the Subura as a cook, and that she was well known for her talents. He also indulged your curiosity as to how he became a tutor if he was someone originally from a poor background, to which the explanation was that he worked at the residence of a rich man as a young boy who paid him with education and countless scrolls. When he finished his servitude he was a fully realized man with a thirst to teach the eccentric, who turned out to be Eren. He'd only been his tutor for a year, but they were already close like they'd known each other for long.   
  
Bouncing off of your curiosity, he asked you about your upbringing as a girl from the country and why you came to Rome. It seemed offbeat at first with his sudden barrage of questions, but it was nice to unload your burdens if only for a little bit.   
  
You all neared the beginning of the market then, multiple buildings and the flat comitium in sight. The rolling fields of home were naturally beautiful, but they didn’t compare to the man-made wonders that were the temples of gods and community basilicas. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the sight of marble columns that dwarfed you in size and statues of eternal beings that seemed to touch the sky.   
  
The three of you strolled around the Capitoline Hill, particularly you staring in wonder of the sculpted figure of Janus who stood proudly in all his nakedness. Clutching a sword in one hand, he looked gallantly towards the heavens. From feathery hair to defined muscles, the afternoon sun cast shadows along his realistic stature, leaving you feeling like he would come to life and scold you for unabashedly ogling him. If there was one thing you wished to do in this life, it was to learn how to encapsulate the fluidity of life in the rigidness of marble.   
  
Your party came to rest on the steps of the Basilica Aemilia, a rectangular building with countless arches and decorative statues of civil service members. From this spot, you could see the raised landing that was the Rostra. In the book about Rome that was stolen from you, it stated that famous orators would climb its stone steps and speak to any who would listen. It seemed like many would be listening to this _“true master”_ , taking into account the large crowd gathering in the comitium.   
  
To your left, Jean was helping Eren prepare a fresh scroll to take notes, an annoyed look plastered on the student’s face. Reaching into the leather satchel that hung across your body, you readied yourself to once again dip into the alternate reality that was all about Greece and Odysseus, fingers brushed against the all-too-familiar scroll. The horde in front of you began to get unruly, and your attention was ripped away from escaping into your world.   
  
You could see a distinguishable figure climbing the steps of the Rostra now, causing your fingers housed in the satchel to form into a fist out of anticipation.   
  
"Is that-"   
  
"The Praetor, Erwin Smith." Jean quickly answered, his own scroll and papyrus pen situated on his lap like Eren. "He's the true master."   
  
"Sounds like you have a crush on him," Eren snarkily commented.   
  
"Shut up, Eren."   
  
Erwin stood out among everyone, wearing the whitest toga you've ever laid your eyes on. The _toga candida_ , a typical toga bleached characteristically colorless, was the statement that let everyone know he was running for office. It didn’t look to be traditional as the length was shorter; stopping at about the middle of his calf. It was form-fitting instead of loose, and his arms were more exposed than you'd ever seen them. The white against his pale skin made him look clean and untouched – innocent even. It was hard to look away when he looked so ethereal, and you were sure the sea of people felt the same.   
  
To the left of him was an older-looking man, appearing to have similar features to Erwin with a strong nose, blonde hair, and striking blue eyes. He donned a traditional senatorial robe, resting against the iron railing of the Rostra.   
  
"That's his father," Jean pointed to who you were just gazing at. "Carinu Smith, Consul."   
  
You seemed to be at a loss for words. You knew that Erwin was a prominent figure – he was in the Senate, of course – but his father as Consul solidified a familial position in the world of politics. The Praetor was running for the highest office of election.   
  
"The Smiths have had a role in the government since the Republic," Jean continued. "its tradition for all the able-bodied to be civil servants in the Senate. Public opinion of them is great, as always, considering they pledge themselves to the people." The tutor began to scribble something down on the parchment.   
  
The sea of chattering voices began to die down as Erwin eyed the crowd expectantly, soon lowering himself on one knee and a hand on his heart. He showed the people of all walks of life his respect in a sincere way, head bowed and hair falling onto his forehead. He then confidently stood in the center of the Rostra, hands clasped behind his back. His voice boomed across the comitium and into your ears.   
  
"People of Rome," he began, loud and clear. "it has been four years since I last stood here and accepted the esteemed position of Praetor. You elected me to command the armies in a time of great turmoil, a period where the doors of the Temple of Janus had not closed in years. While in office, I gave strategies and instructed the many legions to fight against our enemies ruthlessly in war, and their efforts have borne fruit. Now, the entrance is shut, signifying the time of peace that has washed over the lands and seas of the Empire."   
  
"With this new era of peace that has washed over our home, it became easier to see the faults of society and government that hinders further development. Alongside the other elected magistrates, I worked to help rebuild the weakening social order that plagued us and aimed to one day create a new one – one where the common man's station is equal to that of a patrician. It was not received well by those who reside on the higher-end of living, but this agenda is important to those who know what it is like to face the reality of life and death. On the battlefield, many soldiers and I faced it – the realization that we are all the same in the universal beauty of death. Money and station do not matter when one is buried in the ground, giving back the energy we took from nature. We are all creatures of the same kin."   
  
"As my time as Praetor nears its end, I cannot say I am anything but honored you have allowed me to work alongside the Senators in the Curia."   
  
There was a short pause, and it was so quiet in the forum that you could hear Eren and Jean's pens scratching against their parchment scrolls.   
  
"However, I am not here standing upon this Rostra to give a farewell speech. During my time in the Senate, I noticed something of a most dreadful nature. Among its countless members, a moral infection is brewing and spreading."   
  
"When we Senators assume office, we take the _Sacramentum_ , an oath that pledges our actions in office are for the betterment of society and government. By sacrificing selfish desires, we can truly devote ourselves to public service. Despite this oath, many of the assembly conspire against one another in acts of savagery kin to the people we defeated in other nations. It is no longer about civil duty in the Curia. The only things that consume their minds are bloodshed and money. This is a new battle; one that doesn’t come from unknown lands but the minds of power-hungry politicians."   
  
"Now, I am not telling you this to scare or pressure you with the upcoming election for consulship. I did not come here today to glorify myself but to make a vow to you. If I am elected Consul, I will declare that my term shall usher in a new era – an era of moral virtue and dignity that the Senate was created for. For too long, many have turned a blind eye to the moral grayness of these supposed _"esteemed"_ individuals and left them to their immoral devices of prostitution, corruption, and murder. I wish to root out each corrupt individual one by one, even if the Curia is left with only a handful of members. We will build up a new assembly – one that will serve you, and you only. Only then will we have a proud empire; one of virtuous men and women. That is the sole reason for my running for Consulship; the need to fulfill my duty as a member of the Smiths and cater to you: the people of Rome.”   
  
He turned his head and looked at his father. “I now ask the Consul to accept my entrance into the general run for consulship.”   
  
With his close, the Consul walked up to his son and faced him. He had a small, scrolled-up piece of parchment in his hand wrapped in a piece of red cloth. Erwin took a knee.   
  
“As Consul of the Roman Senate, I hereby accept your entrance.”   
  
Carinu Smith handed the parchment to the Praetor, a proud expression on his face. His hands gripped Erwin’s shoulders, helping him rise and watch the crowd as they began to cheer in approval.   
  
“He sure has a way with words…” you spoke, fixed upon Erwin as he walked down the marble steps of the Rostra and began to shake hands with those in the crowd. He wore a triumphant smile but maintained an all-around mature demeanor. It seemed nothing fazed him.   
  
“His position is all but secured now,” Jean murmured from your left, looking at the Praetor in awe. “it seems anyone else won’t have a chance. He’s all business, none of that aimless thinking.”   
  
_Was he talking about Zeke in his speech? Should I tell him about this warning Erwin announced?_   
  
“How do you know he’s not lying about the corruption in the Senate just to talk himself up?” You rose to your feet, securing the satchel to your body and readying to leave the Forum.   
  
Scrolling up the parchment in his hands, Jean let out a scoff. “It isn’t about whether it’s true or false. It’s about whether the people believe what he says, and I say they do. That’s what makes him a master.”   
  
“What’s the difference between that and a manipulator?”   
  
“Politicians, manipulators -” the tutor let out a yawn. “they’re all the same.”   
  
The three of you began to maneuver through the sea of people, beginning the trek back home with the conclusion of today’s lesson. You looked back at Erwin one last time, who was talking to his father and a common-looking man donning a ragged, brown chiton. You could tell he was concentrating on whatever was being said, his eyebrows furrowed the same way they were the last time you saw him analyzing a document in his home. With that, you turned around and walked onto the main road alongside Jean and Eren.   
  
Unbeknownst to you, a pair of knowing blue eyes left the dull, brown ones of his conversation partner. They turned towards your retreating form; intrigue and contemplation growing in their owner’s mind.   
  
\-   
  
_It’s a beautiful day,_ Zeke thought, strolling round and round the peristylium. It was a shame it was ruined with news of Erwin’s announcement in the form of the Quaestor, Domitius.   
  
Domitius was a man ten years Zeke’s senior, who hailed from the infamous Caeso family. They had a particularly strong influence in the Senate, with multiple members serving in the assembly. As Quaestor, he was climbing the Cursus Honorum to one day achieve what no one in his family had yet to: become Consul. With a popular, positive public opinion of his, it was all but set in stone he would reach that position one day.   
  
The Censor had known him since he was young. He worked under the tutelage of Grisha Yeager, who was just a regular member of the Senate in his younger years. When all hell broke loose, Domitius was there for Zeke and Eren, helping them get back on their feet and giving advice to a younger Zeke when he first joined the Senate. For that, the Censor would always be grateful.   
  
Domitius was walking alongside him now, enjoying the fresh air and occasionally looking at a fresco they passed by as Zeke pondered.   
  
“Still thinking about birds and flowers?” The older man’s tone was teasing. His conversation partner let out a quiet laugh.   
  
“Just wondering about what to do now since Erwin’s speech yesterday.”   
  
“Yes, I admit it was a rather damning speech. I thought you said you were planning on making his road to consulship harder?”   
  
“I didn’t think he would announce it so suddenly.” Zeke let out a sigh. “I have things in order, but it might be more complicated now. Especially with the contents of his speech.”   
  
Domitius looked at him in surprise. “I thought you didn’t attend?”   
  
“I didn’t. Eren’s caretaker was there and relayed the contents of it to me this morning before I heard about it.”   
  
“Then you know of his call to expose the corruption of the Senate?”   
  
The Censor scoffed, frustratingly running a hand through his beard. “What hypocrites the Smiths are…”   
  
“Yes, ever since they began spouting misinformation about your father five years ago, I lost all faith in them.” Domitius raised his eyebrows in slight wonder at Zeke. “I’m still surprised you managed to land in the Senate as Censor with his wrongfully tarnished reputation.”   
  
“A strange occurrence, I also think. However, there are more important matters to mull over…”   
  
“Like?”   
  
“The hypocritical attributes of the Consul and Praetor. They spout on and on about moral righteousness when they too indulge in the perks of high society.”   
  
Domitius furrowed his brows in contemplation. “I haven’t heard any sort of thing about these indulgences. Surely, they would spread like wildfire if they were true.”   
  
“It’s because they must silence the ones who do know. The victims themselves.”   
  
“Zeke, what is it that you know?”   
  
Still walking, the two of them turned the corner for the umpteenth time. The Censor stared in front of himself.   
  
“I know that my father did not die by suicide as they say.”   
  
Domitius stopped in his tracks, Zeke turning around to look at him with a solemn expression. “What?”   
  
“I was the first to find him. Whoever did it thought I must’ve had the intelligence of a rock, judging by how they left the scene.”   
  
“Zeke,” Domitius placed a hand on the Censor’s shoulder. “why did you never say anything?”   
  
“I couldn’t take any risks. I didn’t want to wind up like my father, hanging from the ceiling like an animal. Eren would be alone then.”   
  
“What made you suspect foul play?” The hand on his shoulder dropped. They looked at each other expectantly.   
  
“There was nothing near him that suggested he kicked himself off towards his doom, not even a bucket. The family chest was also ransacked like someone was searching for something.”   
  
“Grisha never kept anything of importance in there…” Domitius held his chin, thinking. “If he needed to hide something that he knew, he would’ve kept it somewhere inconspicuous.”   
  
“Yes. A few days after my father’s death, I checked the plot under the statue in the garden. I knew of the spot because I would watch him as a boy put things in there when he didn’t know.”   
  
“What did you find?”   
  
Zeke reached into the fold of his toga and pulled out a small leather journal. He offered it to Domitius, who carefully grabbed it and inspected the scratched surface. The sound of fingers touching paper was soon heard as he opened it to the first page.   
  
“He had been investigating Carinu before his rather untimely death. All of the details of his investigation are in there."   
  
The older man scanned the numerous pages, mouth slightly agape in awe. "Are these observations true? I knew that Grisha and Carinu were close, but I doubt the Consul would be that stupid to spout it out in the open."   
  
"There are further investigations in the latter half. I had my guard check out the people mentioned, and they matched up with what was written down all those years ago."   
  
"What is this about -" Domitius squinted at the hard-to-read script. "this woman serving at the Smiths?"   
  
Zeke crossed his arms, readying himself for the true shock of the show. "You know of Carinu's conquering of Gaul back when he was Praetor, correct?"   
  
The Quaestor nodded. Of course, he knew, everybody remembered the epic feat that occurred over a decade ago.   
  
"He found a woman there who he grew infatuated with. He took her as a slave when they returned to Rome, and she was essentially forced to be his entertainment. Of course, this was all while his wife was still alive."   
  
"Have you seen her yourself?"   
  
"A few times when I would visit Erwin. I didn’t know about this at the time."   
  
It was quiet. Zeke continued.   
  
"Father wrote about how she was suddenly removed from the home one day and placed in a location in the poorer part of the Subura. The address is listed there, so I checked it out myself."   
  
"Did you find the woman there?"   
  
"No. There was a woman who lived next door who knew her, though. She said the slave was pregnant when she first arrived there, and her rent was covered by an unknown man. A few days after she gave birth, they were killed in a supposed robbery-murder."   
  
Domitius closed the journal, finished with his investigation. "That doesn’t make any sense. If she was a slave, what is there to steal?"   
  
"Precisely," Zeke took the journal from the older man's outstretched hand and placed it back in the fold of his toga. "I believe it was them trying to tie up loose ends – ones that could destroy the Smith's legacy if she chose to speak out." 

“So then they knew about your father poking around. That’s why they started calling him out in public for those blasphemous things before his death... they wanted to tarnish his reputation before he could expose them for their wrongdoings.” 

Domitius ran a hand through his graying hair, head throbbing. It hurt to think a man so important to him might have been murdered without his knowledge, falsely branded as an adulterer and conspirator even in death.   
  
"I found out the woman's identity only recently from my private investigations. Turns out she had a son who was also taken here as a slave."   
  
"Do you plan to contact him?"   
  
"I already have a short while ago. I gave him a proposition that I'll receive an answer for in about a week."   
  
The Quaestor let out a sigh. Zeke was as cunning as ever.   
  
"And what is this man's name?"   
  
Zeke let a smile crack through his hardened face.   
  
"You'll be surprised, he's actually quite well known in town."   
  
The Censor headed for the tablinum now, Domitius following closely behind.   
  
"They call him the _Dire Dimachaerus_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a video of what the Forum looked like! It also has explanations for the buildings and other stuff mentioned in this chapter!
> 
> https://youtu.be/NZ2NWXp-1Y4 
> 
> Sacramentum: This was an oath that many people had to take where they promised to not engage in acts that could tarnish the reputation of the Senate. It was highly looked down upon to commit acts of adultery or anything morally bad while was part of the Senate and if one was found guilty of these acts, they faced punishment and expulsion.
> 
> Temple of Janus: Located in the Forum and dedicated to the Roman god Janus, who was in charge of doors and gates (lol). If the doors were open to the temple, it was representative of a time of turmoil. When they were closed, it was known that the Empire was at peace.
> 
> Cursus Honorum: This was the typical succession of roles that a magistrate would go through to one day become Consul.
> 
> Also let me just say that messy-haired Erwin is the best Erwin period.


	7. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter is a little graphic, mention of suicide.

The stupid rats in the sewers were loud as always today.   
  
Levi stared at the drain in the floor across his room - which was more like a stone closet. He lied on his side, body uncomfortably trying to relax against the hardwood that was supposed to be a bed. For how much money the Colosseum made they sure didn't treat the entertainment well, which was painfully obvious as the Gladiator’s quarters resembled that of a cell.   
  
He didn’t know what time it was at that moment; neither sunlight nor moonlight shone in the underground where he resided. What he did know was that he was utterly tired.   
  
Ever since Zeke had talked to him that wretched day, Levi had more problems with sleeping than ever before. In prior days he could at least rest for a couple of hours, or however long his body would allow against the wooden bed frame. Now, he was lucky if he could last an hour. It was hard to slip into the escape that was sleep when his mind was occupied with other important things, like the pressing matter of his mother’s disposition.   
  
_Squeak._  
  
He let out a sigh and rolled to his back. Those rats were basically his roommates at this point, annoying ones that never seemed to shut up. How pathetic that he was thinking like this in the first place.   
  
There was a loud bang against the iron bars that was his door then, and from his position, Levi could see that familiar person standing in the somewhat lit hallway that connected to his room. Magath.   
  
“Get up!”   
  
The Gladiator rolled his eyes in annoyance, taking his time to sit up in bed and place both feet on the cold floor. The dark eyes of the man pierced Levi as a bowl of unappetizing food was then thrown onto the floor of the cell. Its contents, a hefty portion of what resembled slop, dripped onto the porous stone. "Eat."   
  
It was tempting to ignore the head guard, a man who seemed to get off on treating the slaves like animals. Levi briefly entertained the idea but deduced it wasn’t worth it. Not when he already had countless scars on his body from previous acts of ignorance. With that, he swiftly picked up the wooden bowl and resituated himself on the bed with a creak. Magath was still watching, arms crossed and wrinkled face set in a scowl.   
  
"Gonna make sure I finish my food too?" Levi's voice drawled. The food was a mix of grains like barley and other nonsensical things – stuff that would help him stay strong despite days on end of isolation and limited movement. It tasted like it always did. Disgusting.   
  
"One of the others bashed his head in with the bowl," the Guard sighed, leaning against the wall. "just making sure you don’t try an' pull anything."   
  
His grip on the wood tightened. _Another suicide._   
  
"Thanks for the idea." The Gladiator wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, tossing the bowl on the floor to where Magath could collect it. "Tempting, but I think I'll save it for another day."   
  
Magath let out a dry laugh, hand gripping an iron bar with bruising force. "Try and they'll really be upset. Might actually kill you in the games."   
  
"Perfect."   
  
Collecting the bowl, the Guard snarled. "All of you Gauls should've been killed. You and your uncle disrespect the Empire just by breathing."   
  
Levi pattered to the folded clothes hanging in the corner of the room, beginning to dress. Today, he would finally leave the confines of this shoebox and head for the floor of the Colosseum for training.   
  
"You've already told me that one a few times. Is it that hard to come up with something new in that small head of yours?"   
  
A scoff. "Hurry it up."   
  
Just for him, Levi took his sweet time.   
  
The walk to the floor was a short one – one that was characterized by more pointless mouthing coming from that stupidly annoying man. A few push and shoves later, and they reached the wooden entrance. Sandal-clad feet carried him through the entrance and onto the dirt clearing, sun beaming down onto his tired form. It almost felt like the rays were burning him, and he temporarily had to close his eyes for fear of going blind. Despite that, he felt a calmness wash over him. It was silent in the Colosseum save for the other slaves who had already begun combat and the few spectators sitting in the stands. This place would always be a bearer of trying times, but it was hard to not admit that it was beautiful just like this.   
  
Opening his eyes, he began to make his way to the left of the stadium where the wooden practice instruments lay. There was a large variety to choose from, all resting along an expanse of the floor: spears, shields, daggers, tridents, and a particularly scary-looking weighted net littered with spikes. If there was one thing the Romans were good at, it was coming up with more barbarous objects to force people to kill each other with.   
  
Levi settled for the familiar pair of wooden swords and matching holders to the right, efficiently fastening the leather around his chiton-clad body. A large hand then smacked against his back, sending him forward a few steps.   
  
"Ya up against that brat today."   
  
Kenny.   
  
An irritated groan left his nephew then, though he wasn’t sure whether it was from the greeting or news of his training partner. He let out a smirk.   
  
"Piss off Magath already?"   
  
The buckle of the sword-holder jingled as Levi resumed fastening it. "That much is obvious."   
  
"Well," Kenny turned to his left, picking up similar weapons to his nephew. "try not to kill the kid at least."   
  
Placing the wooden swords in the holsters, he stalked off to search for that stupid idiot Magath decided was a good idea to place him against. No matter how many years he spent here, the Guard and trainer seemed determined on making his life hell in multiple ways. He must have a boring life if that was his entertainment: talking down to others and forcing them to fight a rich kid who thought he knew it all.   
  
Porco Galliard was an enigma to Levi, though he wasn’t that interested in understanding his stupid motivations. He was a kid from a rich patrician family, no more than twenty-years-old, and decided that becoming a gladiator would be his _profession._ It was obvious he was in it for the glory, which he received in astounding amounts. Women threw themselves at him, thinking he was some type of bad boy bestiarus. While so many gladiators suffered because they were slaves, he was praised for his 'heroic' actions of dedicating himself to the games. What a load of shit.   
  
Levi spotted the familiar head of blonde hair across the way, chatting up another rich-kid gladiator who decided to throw their life away. Galliard seemed to notice the Dimachaerus heading towards him, already crafting his signature smug expression that always seemed to piss Levi off.   
  
"Coming to pay your respects to me, Gaul?” His tone was teasing as Levi approached him, hand gripping the standing, wooden spear next to him.   
  
The other kid who stood next to Galliard gave the Dimachaerus a disturbed look before going his own way.   
  
Levi unsheathed the swords from their holsters, all business. The Bestiarus laughed and backed away. Tossing the wooden spear to the ground, he readied the more suitable sword tucked into his fine leather belt. There wasn’t a hair out of place on him. It irked Levi.   
  
“It’s a shame that the goddess Fortuna wastes her time on a slave like you.”   
  
Galliard was the first to attack, moving skillfully to avoid Levi’s incoming jabs. The two of them entered a long dance of sorts at that moment; blocking and stepping in reaction to each other’s motions. The Bestiarus felt pride at that moment. He could somewhat keep up with the infamous Dimachaerus, the force that captivated those who ever saw him wield his swords without hesitation. Even though he was feared by many, when it came down to it he was just a captive - a barbarous savage.   
  
Said savage was now swinging his right, backhanded sword to the head of his adversary. Ducking in time, Galliard managed to bring his sword to the back of Levi’s exposed underside of his knee, knocking him off balance and to the dirt floor. The Dimachaerus’ white chiton was now stained with dirt, falling off the one shoulder it adhered to. In the blaring sunlight, a dark brand on pale skin caught the eye of the Bestarius. 

It was almost too easy.   
  
Foot pressed against Levi’s chest, Galliard pried the arm that moved to cover the mark away with the wooden sword. Grey eyes bore into amber ones. A warning. Galliard was never one to take a hint.   
  
“What is this? The symbol of your little clan?” A laugh rumbled from his throat.   
  
Levi clicked his tongue, his left hand now gripping the ankle that aided in pinning him to the ground with bruising force. Without having said a word, it only spurred that idiot on. Any reaction from Levi fueled a fire.   
  
“And who gave you this? Your wretched uncle? Or perhaps,” an uneasy grin arose on the Bestarius’ young face, free of the stressors of life. “was it your _whore_ of a mother?”   
  
Galliard was swiftly brought to the ground with a hard thud after Levi used his hold to uproot his position. Now, Levi had his foot near the base of the idiot's neck, toying with the idea of cutting off airflow and ending this whole fiasco permanently. The wooden blade was pressed against the jugular vein, and he could almost feel the quickening pace of the cowering man's heartbeat. Wooden or not, if he really wanted it to, it would pierce his skin and muscle with enough force behind it.   
  
To Galliard, Levi was a stoic man who always kept quiet. One who always kept moving forward no matter what life threw at him and would never succumb to matters that lead to trivial results. Now, everything was painted all over his face. A look of utter animal desire to kill was in his eyes, one that he had never seen before. Not even in the glimpses he saw when he was fighting in the games.   
  
"Who do you think you are, huh?" Despite his feral-looking appearance, he sounded as unimpressed as ever. The wood pressed harder against his neck.   
  
A nervous laugh. “Calm down now,” Galliard’s hand gripped Levi’s right hand in a lame attempt to stand down. “gladiators can joke around every once in a while.”   
  
Levi just looked bored now. “Does it look like I’m having a good time?” A splinter from the wood pierced skin, a little bead of blood surfacing on pale skin that belonged to the Bestarius. “Tell me, what exactly about being a gladiator is so enjoyable that jokes are something to laugh at?”   
  
“I can name quite a few aspects-”   
  
“What was so hard about being a politician like all the other shits in your family, huh?! Enjoying yourself in your _big, clean home,_ waking up with an _assurance_ that you’ll live to see the next day-“   
  
_I don’t want you to hurt people. I want you to grow up into someone who others can look up to. A good person._   
  
Levi faltered slightly. Of all times for her words to resurface in his memory, why now?   
  
_“Hey!”_   
  
Turning his head, Levi could see Magath heading over. No doubt about it, he would receive a slashing as soon as Galliard would run his mouth.   
  
Before he could lift himself off of his opponent, familiar hands pried him away.   
  
“I was bein’ serious when I said don’t kill him, you idiot.”   
  
Galliard sat up, running a pathetic hand over the little cut on his neck. He looked at Magath who already gripped the whip attached to his belt.   
  
“What’s going on over here?”   
  
“Nothing,” the Bestarius surprisingly spoke. “just training as always.” Rising to his feet and collecting his weapons, he turned to head for the main exit of the Colosseum. “I think I’ll call it a day, Magath. I have business to attend with my brother.”   
  
The head Guard bowed for a show of respect. “Of course, Sir. Give my regards to the Senator.”   
  
Galliard nodded, stalking off. Magath gave Levi a warning look before heading back to his previous position along the wall.   
  
“What an ass kisser.”   
  
Kenny gave his nephew a disapproving look, readying his weapons to train with Levi. He was reminded of times back home when Levi would show up to training lessons all black and blue. “Ya acting like a brat again. Not thinkin’ before ya fight.”   
  
Levi scoffed, anger slowly subsiding. How embarrassing.   
  
“You oughta be careful now. His brother’s a politician - an both of us know how _those_ people are.”   
  
Half-heartedly sparring against each other, the two of them began to talk in hushed voices.   
  
“How exactly do we plan on escaping when it’s time for us to meet that bastard?” Levi dodged a swing.   
  
“Pretty sure Zeke’s got it all set up in his little plan. Probably'll pay the guards off or somethin'."   
  
Aiming to strike at Kenny's side, Levi was effortlessly blocked. It was almost pointless fighting against him now. They seemed to cancel each other out skill-wise.   
  
The Dimachaerus' mind shifted to the previous tournament. "Seems like he's got a habit of turning people into his pawns."   
  
"Rich folk are used to treating others like they're disposable. How do ya think the Ackermans lasted so long back in Gaul? No matter where ya go, there'll always be someone dumb enough to walk into a spider's web."   
  
\-   
  
_Soft blonde locks, pale skin, big brown eyes. Everything about her was intoxicating._  
  
 _The bustling market served as background noise as the young couple sought refuge from the madness in a nearby ally. It was dirty and dark, but none of that mattered when they were in each other's presence, staring into one another's eyes with fervor._  
  
 _"Zeke," the girl sighed, feeling the back of his fingers caress her cheeks and soon tangle themselves in her hair. "come meet me tonight."_  
  
 _Her tone was pleading, face rosy with embarrassment due to her request. She looked so beautiful just like this. The young man, Zeke, dipped down to place a soft kiss upon her forehead._  
  
 _"Where shall we meet?"_  
  
 _"At the Comitium. My parents will be gone tonight – we can head to my home from there."_  
  
 _A soft chuckle sounded in the air from Zeke. "All right, my love." He separated himself from her only to take her hand in his and place a chaste kiss on the back of it. It was ironic. Being respectful and innocent when later in the night they would meet for a secret rendezvous._  
  
 _"Goodbye, Hadriana."_  
  
 _The walk back home was one distinguished by the light spring in his step. For so long, Zeke had been eyeing the beautiful girl who sold pastries along with her parents in the market. He first laid eyes on her in an outing with Eren, who ate said pastries like they were made by the gods themself. The young man made it a point to visit as often as his schedule would permit, which seemed like quite a lot for someone in their early twenties. One day, Zeke would grow up and accept the responsibilities of his father. Maybe join and attend meetings in that god-awful place known as the Curia. However, today he would indulge once more in the follies of youth._  
  
 _Zeke maneuvered the streets of Rome expertly, soon reaching the familiar road that his home resided on. It was quiet and calm for the early afternoon, but no mind was given to it._  
  
 _The bronze doors of the domus felt infinitely heavy as he opened them, letting out a sigh. His feet ached from the walk. Resting upon the seats next to the empty impluvium, he unfastened his shoes and massaged the soles of his feet. He could go for a glass of wine right now._  
  
 _"Sannes!" He called out to no avail._  
  
 _Where was everybody?_  
  
 _Collecting his shoes, he began to make his way through the tablinum and into the peristylium. The red curtains felt cool on his hand as he moved them out of the way. Looking in front of him, a strangled cry unconsciously escaped his mouth. Sandals clattered against the tiled floor. His knees gave out._  
  
 _He could feel the bile rising in his throat, threatening to come out any second. Eyes were wide as they stared helplessly at the floor. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t bring himself to face the unbelievable sight before him. If he didn’t look, it wasn’t real. However, his body had a different agenda. Blue eyes helplessly turned to the sight once more, unable to look away in utter horror._  
  
 _The sound of rope struggling against the wooden beam in the ceiling of the porch would forever be burned in his mind. The wind was strong, making it sway from side to side and creak from the weight. The rope seemed never-ending; tied round and round the wood cascading down and spiraling around the neck of its victim. In its clutches was his father, hanging lifelessly._  
  
 _Once lively and curious eyes now bulged inhumanely out of its sockets. A mouth often used to raise awareness of injustice lied open, saliva leaking onto his chin and dripping incrementally to the tile floor beneath him. His skin was an unhealthy color, undertones showing a ghastly blue. He didn’t look like himself. He was a shell of the person who was once known as Grisha Yeager._  
  
 _Zeke gasped for breath, unknowing that he'd been holding it for what felt like an eternity. His mind was blank. What was he to do now?_  
  
 _Eren would be home soon, back from an outing with his caretaker._  
  
 _Was Eren to see the same sight as his older brother?_  
  
 _Zeke hurled forward, throwing up the little food he'd eaten that day. It stung his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Warm tears were now rolling down his cheeks as he mustered up the strength to rise to his feet, turning to leave the domus._  
  
 _He doesn't know how, but Zeke manages to fetch a local doctor and escort him back to the house. It's all a blur now as the two of them manage to lower Grisha to the floor and carry him to his quarters. He rests on the fine silk of his bed, eyes shut by his son's doing. He'd look like he was asleep if it weren't for the indentations and frightful bruising on his neck caused by the rope._  
  
 _“Asphyxiation,” the doctor explains to Zeke, who stood disconsolate by the bedside. His face was wet with silent tears. “death by suicide.”_  
  
 _The words ring hollow._  
  
 _When the staff magically reappears from an outing that the paterfamilias ordered, the household begins to mourn._  
  
 _The black toga that was long forgotten in Zeke's wardrobe feels foreign against his skin. It fits him a little tightly due to how old it is. It's raining then, water falling into the impluvium at an alarming rate. Dad always liked the rain._  
  
 _Face dry and hair disheveled, he waits in the atrium for his brother to return._  
  
 _Eren comes tumbling through the doors with his caretaker when the sun begins to set, all smiles as he shakes his hair to rid it of the rain. Upon seeing Zeke sitting by the impluvium, his smile seems to grow wider. He was clutching something wrapped in a white cloth in his little hands as he runs to his brother's side._  
  
 _"I saw Hadriana at the market! Here!" Inside the cloth are pastries, and by looking at Eren's face he must've already devoured one on the way home. "I even got the apple one that Dad likes!"_  
  
 _The bile threatens to come up again. Zeke manages to suppress it._  
  
 _Eren's caretaker has a dreadful expression on her face. The black toga was more than enough to let her know what was going on._  
  
 _"Eren," Zeke starts, voice hoarse as he rises from his seat. He places the cloth of pastries gently onto it. "come with me."_  
  
 _Sensing the grave tone of his older brother's voice, his expression grows uneasy. He grabs Zeke's hand, who squeezes back in false reassurance._  
  
 _Eren's cries haunt him well into the night. The small form clutches the cloth of his father's toga with desperation, shaking vehemently. Sobs wrack his body. He's groveling on the floor now, black toga contrasting against the white mosaics. Zeke watches from a few feet away, trying not to show emotion. He soon joins Eren on the floor, holding him tight against his chest. He clutches the black fabric tightly like he's afraid Zeke is going to disappear too. To leave him all alone._  
  
 _Eren, so little, fully comes to understand the finality of death._  
  
 _In the dead of night, when Eren finally manages to fall asleep, Zeke wanders the domus. Only now do questions begin to arise. How exactly did his father fall to his doom? Why was there no note? Did he plan this?_  
  
 _With an oil lamp in his hand, he enters the dark and cold room that houses the family chest. It's been ransacked. Things are out of order and some gold pieces are missing. Who went through this?_  
  
 _He doesn’t get a wink of sleep in the following days, unable to find any more clues that lead to his father's demise. Did he really commit suicide? Did he really want to leave Eren and me to fend for ourselves?_  
  
 _"Zeke," that all too familiar voice purrs. "I love you."_  
  
 _He finds himself in Hadriana's arms. They're in the Subura, tucked away in the haven that is her bedroom. It's warm and inviting, unlike the cold and painful atmosphere that is home. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to think-_  
  
 _"Ah!"_  
  
 _Her hands grip his shoulders almost painfully, but it doesn’t faze him. His own wander the planes of her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Her body is hot to the touch and wholly beautiful as it writhes beneath him. He'll never get enough of her. She makes him forget._  
  
 _Later in the evening, when they've come down from their desire, she sleeps peacefully and he lies awake in the small bed. Hadriana is nuzzled against his chest, utterly spent. The moonlight casts a soft light in the room through the nearby window. He's lulled to the briefest of sleep._  
  
 _The moon is still high in the sky when he awakens. Hadriana hasn’t moved an inch despite the thin layer of sweat forming along Zeke's nakedness. He remembers the plot in the peristylium._  
  
 _She doesn’t wake when he readies himself to leave. The walk out of the Subura is shady, characterized by countless thugs and prostitutes lingering in the streets. He makes it out unscathed and begins the long trek home, plot on his mind. Was something important there?_  
  
 _The domus is quiet when he enters, and his feet carry him straight to the garden. Underneath the statue of the goddess, Nemesis, was a plot where Father had placed things of importance. Inside was a single leather journal, looking worn due to use. Zeke takes it to his cubiculum and spends all night reading its contents. In the early morning hours, when the oil from the lamp had run out and sunlight peeks through the window, he feels hollow._  
  
 _The funeral is a public affair attended by the entire assembly. Eren and Zeke lead the procession hand in hand out of the city as Grisha's body is carried on a platform behind them in the warm, summer heat. He's laid to rest in a clearing by an olive tree, near the plots of his first and second wife. It’s a beautiful day with birds chirping happily and a pleasant wind whipping through the large crowd._  
  
 _Every member of the assembly gives the brothers their condolences, Domitius remaining by their side for support. The Smiths are the last to pay their respects to the dead, and Zeke tries his hardest not to throttle the two of them._  
  
 _How could they?_  
  
 _"May the gods watch over him." They recant, voices laced with emotion. It disgusts Zeke._  
  
 _His head begins to pound when it's just Eren and him. The two of them stare at the newly carved headstone, eyes dry. They'd done more than enough crying._  
  
 _"Zeke," Eren's voice is rough. It threatens to break. "are you going to leave me too?"_  
  
 _Zeke lowers himself to Eren's level, holding both of Eren's arms comfortingly. "I'll never leave you. I'll always be there for you."_  
  
 _The little boy's eyes grow glassy, and he envelops his older brother in a bone-crushing hug._  
  
 _For a split second, everything seems like it'll be fine._  
  
"Zeke."   
  
He awakes with a jolt, hand clutching his chest. It's dark in the room, but he can make out the small figure of Eren standing at the foot of his bed. He rubs his eyes, willing the sleepiness to leave and replace itself with alertness.   
  
"What's happened?"   
  
The little boy stands awkwardly, soon beginning to make his way to the other side of the bed. "I had a nightmare." He sounded tired.   
  
"What," Zeke sits up in bed, elbows resting on his knees. "you want to stay here?"   
  
Eren nods and situates himself in the sheets. As always, he's a sheet-hogger.   
  
"Hurry up and go to sleep. I don’t want a kid keeping me up all night."   
  
Zeke could feel those green eyes shooting daggers in the back of his head. He let a smile crack as he plopped back down on the mattress.   
  
"I'm not a kid anymore. I'm twelve."   
  
A sigh. "Last time I checked, adults don’t go to their brother's room for comfort when they have a nightmare."   
  
Eren let out a huff. _Stupid Zeke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddess Fortuna: goddess of fortune and the personification of luck in Roman religion. A lot of gladiators prayed to her in hopes of getting into her good graces to survive.
> 
> Bestiarus: were those who went into combat with beasts, or were exposed to them. Usually fought with a long spear and a shield. Those who willingly became a gladiator and were not slaves were also treated like celebrities by the masses.
> 
> Goddess Nemesis: goddess of divine retribution and revenge, who would show her wrath to any human being that would commit hubris.
> 
> Black toga: like today, people in Ancient Rome wore togas dyed dark colors in times of mourning.


End file.
